


Concerto in D Minor

by kylar



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Depressed!Levi, Depression, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Lots of Angst, M/M, Moderately Slow Build, Night Terrors, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Pining!Levi, Self Harm, Violinist!Eren, bottom!levi, ereri, insomniac!Levi, levi pov, violinist!levi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylar/pseuds/kylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi is a world renowned violinist with a tortured past. He battles with severe depression and in order to feel the passion needed to play, he must self harm. He’s done a perfect job of keeping this dark side of himself hidden from the public eye, but when he meets a young up-and-coming violinist, it’s only a matter of time before the boy discovers what’s hidden behind Levi’s perfectly constructed mask.</p><p>*permanently discontinued*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tortured Past

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look a new fic! The title is kinda lame but Bach has a beautiful piece for two violins called 'Concerto in D Minor' so I went with it. It's kind of a more upbeat piece than is appropriate for this fic but oh well. And for any of you that follow my other fics, this one will NOT have regular weekly updates like the others. I have a couple chapters written already but not nearly as much as I usually have written before I start posting. My main focus is going to be on Freedom of the Press so I'll only be updating this one as I get around to it. I'll try not to leave too much time between updates though.
> 
> Also I'll probably change the summary later when I can think of how to make it better.

_"In other news, we've just received word that world famous violinist, Levi Ackerman, has accepted an invitation to play as a guest concertmaster for the Shiganshina Symphony in their upcoming recitals.  This is big news for the small orchestra.  Levi Ackerman played as first chair violinist in his first professional level orchestra at the tender age of nine, and has only grown greater since.  He was the youngest to ever graduate from Sina Institute for the Fine Arts, a very prestigious private university, at the age of fifteen and immediately joined the Karanese Orchestra as concertmaster.  He played with Karanese for three short years before becoming a solo musician.  He has played in hundreds of concerts all over the world and has played as a guest violinist with dozens of orchestral groups.  He's won numerous awards, not only for his great talent with a violin, but for his beautiful compositions as well.  Conductor, Erwin Smith, expresses his great pleasure at being granted this opportunity to work with Mr. Ackerman, and-" **CLICK.**_

I set the remote down on the hotel nightstand.  I had just accepted that invitation yesterday afternoon before my flight to Trost.  That news sure traveled quickly.  It was with great reluctance that I accepted the invitation.  Shiganshina is a very small city, with a very new orchestra.  They're still trying to grow, so they are still small in numbers and low in talent.  But my agent, Hanji, insisted that I accept the invitation.  She said it would make for good public relations, and show that I care about the advancement of these smaller, up-and-coming groups.  Sure, whatever.

Picking up my violin- my pride and joy, my heart and soul, the most precious thing in my life- I head out of the small hotel room.  I have two days here in Trost, one rehearsal day and then one concert tomorrow night, and then I'll be on my way to Shiganshina.  Usually when I play as a guest musician, it's only for one or two recitals, and I'm never there for longer than a few days.  But as this invitation is for me to play as their concertmaster, I'll be there for a lot longer.  I'm not really looking forward to that.  I much prefer traveling.  If I stay in one place too long, my surroundings become too familiar, and my mind starts to turn inwards on itself, bringing my depression to the forefront and recalling memories that I'd much rather forget.  Hanji says that Shiganshina recently lost their concertmaster, so she thinks they're going to try and offer me a permanent position once I get to play with the group for a while.  But I highly doubt it.  One, I haven't accepted a permanent position in over a decade, so what makes them think I'd accept one now?  And for a small, low talent orchestra no less?  Two, they would never be able to afford my rates.  Their location doesn't bring in enough of an audience to be able to make the profit needed to hire me permanently.  I'm surprised they can even afford my rates for the three weeks I'll be there as a guest.

I hitch my small backpack more securely on my shoulder and grip the handle of my violin carefully at my side as I ride the elevator down to the ground floor.  I tug on the long sleeves of my light grey button down out of habit as the doors open and I enter the lobby.  Heading straight out to the street, I hail a cab and give the cab driver the address to Trost's concert hall.

I watch the tall buildings and sprawling city fly by out the windows.  I hold my violin tenderly in my lap to cushion it from the rough ride of the cab.  I started playing the violin when I was three.  My father was a violinist, and he started teaching me to play the second I could hold the bulky thing.  I fell in love with it from the first note, and I bugged my father constantly to give me lessons.  If I wasn't in school, I was at home playing my old, beat up, hand-me-down violin.  My mother had died giving birth to me, so I had always been close with my father, and I think that playing the violin had made us even closer.  He was my best friend, after my violin of course.  So when he was killed in a mugging when I was seven, I was completely lost.  I dove even further into my playing, even going so far as to neglect my schoolwork and taking care of myself so that I'd have more time to play.  I used the tragedy to fuel my passion for playing the violin.  The music suddenly became more passionate, more beautiful, more full of meaning.  And I never wanted the music to stop.  I shuffled from foster home to foster home, none of my foster parents able to handle taking care of me.  I wasn't a problem child, I just shut the rest of the world out so I could focus on my violin.

When I was nine, I played in a school talent show.  Apparently the conductor of the Rose Orchestra, a professional level orchestral group, was in the audience, and after the show, he hunted me down to offer me a position as first violinist for his orchestra.  I accepted, because that meant that I could play my violin all the time without anyone telling me to stop.  So as a child protégé, I played with the Rose Orchestra for the most wonderful year of my life after my father had died.  But then my foster parents gave me up and I had to move.

I heard about Sina Institute of the Fine Arts from a newspaper one day during my freshman year of high school.  The article had been talking about the most prestigious schools for musicians.  Sina had recently passed up Julliard as the best music school in the country, and I was determined to go there.  I immediately sent in an audition tape, and got a quick response telling me that I had been accepted.  Just like that, I was on the road to living a life of music.  I'd never be told to put my violin down again.

My three years at Sina were some of my best years, and also one of my worst.  Although I was completely withdrawn from everyone when I first started attending, I soon became close friends with a cellist, Isabel, and her brother, Farlan, who played the piano.  They introduced me to their friends Petra, Eld, Gunther, and Oluo.  The seven of us became inseparable.  Even though I was considerably younger than all of them, they never treated me like a child, or any different.  We went everywhere together, we practiced together, we played in our own group together.  They were my family where I had gone so long without one.  My first two years at the Institute with them are memories that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

But during my third and final year, the slimy hands of fate dipped into my life and ripped them all away from me.  One night, they all decided that they wanted to go into town to see the Sina Philharmonic Orchestra perform.  I tried to convince them to go the following night because I had to practice for my performance exam the next morning.  But I was unsuccessful.  The seven of us piled into Farlan's car and headed into town.  We never made it to the hall.  A drunk driver driving the wrong way on the highway collided head on with our car.  Farlan and Eld, being in the front seats, died on impact.  Gunther, Oluo, and Petra being in the row in front of me, didn't make it until the ambulances started showing up.  Isabel and I had been in the back row, and I held her hand as the paramedics cut us out of the car.  She died that night in surgery.

Not a day goes by that I don't wish that I had died in that car crash with my friends, with my family.  I still remember, clear as day, as if it were living through it again, Isabel's voice as she cried and asked me if I was okay.  I remember as if she were whispering it in my ear, her trying to call out to the others.  I remember, as if it were tattooed on the inside of my eyelids, the sight of my friends mangled and broken bodies as the paramedics pulled me from that car.

My playing took a drastic turn after the accident.  Just like when I lost my father, I shut myself in with my violin.  Even in the hospital with a broken arm, three broken fingers on my bow hand, and a shattered rotator cuff, I still played my violin.  The nurses couldn't keep it from me.  If they did, I'd refuse to eat, refuse to sleep, refuse to do anything.  I had even tried to kill myself.  When I was alone, I ripped my IV from my arm and used the needle to slice my wrists open.  I was obviously unsuccessful, and the staff realized quickly that the only way to keep me alive would be to give me my violin.  My playing took a dark turn.  Again, I channeled all my negative emotion, all my sorrow, all my grief, into the strings of my violin.  My loss fueled my passion.  Every time I picked up my violin for the next year, I couldn't get through a whole piece without crying.

Once I graduated Sina, the youngest to ever graduate from that institute, my obsession with my violin didn't stop.  I played for Karanese Orchestra for a few years before I realized that I didn't want to play in a group permanently anymore. It reminded me too much of playing with my friends.  I needed to play by myself, where my sound was the only sound that echoed through the hall, where the audience could feel my grief, my anguish, my loss.  My passion.  I needed them to know how much I was hurting.  But no one ever understood.  I knew they wouldn't.  They'd always applaud at the end of every performance, cheering for my heartache, praising my pain, admiring my suffering.

It wasn't until after I left Karanese that my depression became a numbing, blinding force.  My playing took a severe plummet, and I knew why.  My grief had began to numb over time.  The tragedy of my loss was starting to fade.  I was losing the source of my passion.  Despite the dulling of my sorrow though, my night terrors and flashbacks grew worse.  Every night I would wake in a cold sweat, images of the crash still prevalent behind my eyes.  I slowly became an insomniac.  Not only did I not want to sleep anymore, but I couldn't sleep.  The fear of those haunting images coming back full force kept me awake most of the night.  As my depression grew stronger and my playing grew weaker, I realized that I needed a new way to fuel my passion or else I'd lose it all, and I couldn't let that happen.  My playing kept my father, Isabel, Farlan, Petra, Oluo, Eld, and Gunther alive.  They all lived on through my violin.  If I lost my playing, I'd lose all of them all over again.

One particularly bad night, as I struggled to play my violin at three in the morning, I threw the instrument aside in frustration.  I felt so worthless and so pitiful.  I wanted it to end.  I wanted the pain to go away.  I dragged my nails across the skin of my wrists in sheer self hatred.  I scratched so hard that I bled.  It was in the rivulets of crimson snaking down my arms that I found my answer.  Something just snapped in my mind.  A fire sparked, a fire fueled solely on my own pain and agony.  I picked up my violin and I played better than I had in all my life.  I quickly realized, with blood running down my arms and dripping onto the carpet, that I needed to refresh my pain.  I needed to _feel_ my pain again.  Now, I can't pick up my violin without first slicing my arm open and releasing that flow of grief.  It was hard at first, figuring out how to cover up the blood and the cuts during my performances.  But I soon got the hang of it.

It also helped to write my own compositions.  It wasn't too long after I left Karanese that I started funneling my grief onto paper as well, instead of just into my strings.  My compositions are all dark, minor key pieces that reflect my inner turmoil, but again I was praised for my anguish, awarded for my loss.  Some of my pieces I kept to myself, refusing to share with the world.  Some are just too deep and reflective of my pain to let other people give me awards for.

No one knows of this inner pain I still feel.  After I graduated from Sina, everyone seemed to forget the tragedy that happened to six of its brightest students.  Everyone moved on, and they assumed that I had too.  How they don't see my obvious display of misery in my playing, or in my compositions, I don't know, but they don't.  Either that, or they just choose to ignore it.  Either way, I never felt the need to correct them, to show them the vast error in their assumptions.  I haven't moved on.  I haven't forgotten.  And I never will.  I put on a facade every time I play.  Every recital, every concert, every interview, every public relations stunt, I put on my mask of false happiness, of false security, and show the world who they think I am, who they want me to be.  But it will never be more than just a mask.

When the cab pulls to a stop in front of the grand building, I hand the cab driver his fare and climb out of the car.  It's very early in the morning.  The sun has just barely risen.  The sidewalks are quiet.  The city is still sleeping.  But the front doors of the concert hall are unlocked, and I make my way inside.  I've played in this hall before, so I know how to navigate through the grand foyer and into the small, secluded hallways that lead to the back of the building and a number of small practice rooms.  Rehearsal doesn't start for another five hours, but that doesn't make any difference to me.  I'll practice by myself until ten, then practice with the rest of the group for the rest of the day.  The longer I'm playing my violin, the better.

Entering the very last practice room at the end of the hall, I close the door securely behind me, then gently place my violin on top of the upright piano in the corner and drop my backpack to the floor.  I start my careful and precise routine of opening my violin case, checking every inch of the instrument for any signs of damage, polishing the wood, cleaning the strings, adjusting the bridge, cleaning and aligning the chin rest, meticulously tuning the strings, tightening the hair on my bow, applying the perfect amount of rosin to the bow hair, and then setting violin and bow gently in my lap.  Then, I reach for my backpack.  I pull out my small folder of sheet music- not that I usually use any, but just in case I want it- and set it on the stand in front of my chair.  Next, I pull out a black hand towel, a thick rubber band, and a small black box.  Setting the clean towel on the stand, I open the box and extract one of the dozen razors inside.

I set the small box down, carefully placing the razor on top of the towel.  I roll up the sleeve of my left arm to reveal a long row of cuts in various stages of healing.  Some are puckered white scars, others are still red and scabbed, and one is even still fresh from last night.  I pick up my razor and find a patch of skin.  It only takes one sharp drag of the metal across my flesh.  As soon as that one wound opens wide, I grab the towel and press it to my arm, catching the thick crimson before it falls.  I press the towel firmly to the wound, taking a deep breath and letting my eyes drift closed as I feel the pain spread through my whole body.  I feel my grief return, the dull ache of my loss.  I greedily take it all in, like a desert traveler who stumbles across an oasis.  Once I feel the passion fully envelop me, I grab the rubber band and slip it over my arm to hold the towel in place as it absorbs my blood.  I position the tight strap just right so that it lies directly over the wound, contributing endless pressure.

Only then am I able to pick up my precious violin and rest it on my shoulder.  I lean my chin against the chin rest, then reach for my bow.  I let the pain conduct me as I bring the bow to the strings, then slowly drag it across.  Music fills the small room and I let my eyes drift closed, getting completely lost in the sounds of my pain.  The only thing that exists in the world right now is the instrument beneath my chin, the bow in my hand, and the pain radiating throughout my whole body.

The seconds turn into minutes, and the minutes into hours.  But time means nothing as I let my music consume me.  I let it flow from the instrument to sing out the inner turmoil boiling up from within me.  I remember my father's face, although his image has become blurry over the years.  I remember his hands on mine, teaching me a skill that would later become my entire life.  I remember Isabel's laugh, and the contagious nature of it causing the others to laugh as well.  I remember her eyes, those beautiful green eyes that I will never forget for as long as I live.  I remember how much Oluo and Petra loved each other, the look they'd give each other when the rest of the world had disappeared to them.  I remember the way Gunther and Eld used to compete with each other on their trumpets, always trying to determine who was the best player.  I remember the way Farlan's fingers would start moving, as if playing an invisible piano, and how he never seemed to even realize he was doing it.  I remember sitting with all my friends, all crammed in a practice room, playing nameless songs and just enjoying our music.  I remember blinding headlights.  I remember crunching metal.  I remember screams cut short.  I remember moans and hoarse breathing that fades into nothing.  I remember the smell of blood and fear.  I remember Isabel crying.  I remember the scream of the sirens.  I remember the sharp buzz of the saws.  I remember-

I startle violently, the bow screeching against the strings, as someone knocks on the door of the practice room.  It's two short knocks, that's all, and then whoever is on the other side is walking away.  I stare at the door for a long minute, trying to regain my composure.  After a few deep breaths, I carefully set down my violin and bow, then pull my cell phone from my pocket to check the time.  It's nine thirty.  That must've been someone rounding everyone up for practice.  Well I still have a little time.

I carefully put my violin away, going through my routine once again, only this time in reverse.  Once my precious instrument is tucked safely away in its case, I reach into my backpack to pull out a pack of smokes and a lighter.  My nerves are still shot from being startled.  I need to calm down.  Placing the end of the cigarette between my lips, I light it and take a deep drag.  Letting the cigarette hang limply from my lips, I focus on the thick rag pressed to the still bleeding wound.  I remove the rag and replace it with a patch of gauze and tape so that I can better hide it under the sleeve of my button down.  With that taken care of, I roll down my sleeve and secure the buttons on the cuff.  Finishing my cigarette, I snuff it out on the bottom of my shoe and stuff the end in my pocket to properly dispose of the next time I see an ash tray.

Cleaning up the small room, I pack my things away, then grab my violin and head out of the room.  I'm immediately greeted by the sound of various instruments, all practicing independently from one another.  The noise is loud and obnoxious, but it's comforting to me.  It reminds me of playing with my small group of friends.

When I reach the main stage of the concert hall, I see that pretty much the entire orchestra is already seated and ready to begin rehearsal.  The conductor spots me quickly, and waves me forward.  I approach the older man and he claps me on the shoulder.

"It's good to see you again, Levi.  Thank you for agreeing to join us for our concert tomorrow night," the man tells me with a big smile.

"The honor is mine, Pixis," I reply out of courtesy, forcing on that false mask again.   "I would never turn down an opportunity to play in your orchestra."

I guess that could be true.  Of all the groups I've bounced back and forth between, playing as a guest musician for Trost is probably my favorite.  Pixis is a brilliant conductor and composer, and his orchestra is full of some of the best musicians I've ever worked with.  Usually when I get in an invitation to play with this group, I accept.

"Oh, not as honored as I am to have you here," he smiles.  He turns to the rest of the group and taps his baton quickly and loudly on the stand in front of him.  "For all of you who've recently joined, let me introduce to you Levi Ackerman.  He'll be playing as our guest in tomorrow night's concert.  For all of you who've been here for a few months, then I'm sure you remember him."

I half wave, not bothering to give my normal introduction, considering most of these people have already heard it. It's boring anyway, me blabbering on and on about myself and my credentials, my achievements, and all the shit in my life that most people care about and that I find insignificant.  I feel that my real talent comes from my pain, not from where I went to school or who I've played with in the past.

Pixis hands me a slim folder of sheet music and I take my seat in the chair separated just slightly from the rest of the first violins.  I get my instrument ready as Pixis signals for the concertmaster to lead the tuning.  I join in a moment later, and once the warm ups begin, I allow myself to focus more on the pain in my arm.  As Pixis leads us out of the warm ups and into the actual pieces that we'll be playing in the concert tomorrow night, I finally allow myself to get lost in the grief.  I keep my eyes mostly on Pixis, only occasionally glancing at the sheet music.  I've played this piece before, so I don't really need to look at the sheets.

The sounds from the rest of the orchestra come together with the sound of my own instrument to create the beautiful music that consumes my entire being.  I listen to the other first violins, and the second violins.  I hear the slightly deeper tones of the violas, and the drastically deeper tones of the double basses.  I listen to the steady beating of the timpani and the ring bells.  I hear the smooth sounds of the brass instruments, the trumpets and trombones, the French horns and the tuba.  I hear the soft sounds of the woodwinds, the clarinets and flutes and bassoons.  I hear the flow of the piano bringing all the sounds together.

There are times when I miss being a part of a large group like this.  But my occasional acceptance of invitations to join these groups is enough to satisfy me.  As much as I enjoy playing with all these other players, hearing all these different sounds come together to form a singular piece, I much prefer playing by myself.

That's just another reason why these next three weeks in Shiganshina is going to be hard for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://titaneren-jaeger.tumblr.com/) and I'll be tracking the tag 'fic: cidm'. I already have a bunch of posts on tumblr for this fic so I'll organize them into that tag.


	2. A Shocking Sight

_"Hi short stuff!  How was rehearsal?"_ the much too chipper voice practically shouts from the other end of the line.  How can one person be so happy?  I can't even begin to comprehend what that must feel like, to be that happy.  Or to just be any amount of happy.

"Rehearsal was fine," I reply as I find a bench outside the concert hall.  I dust it off quickly, then take a seat, cradling my phone between my shoulder and ear as I fish through my pockets for my smokes.  Finding them, I stick one between my lips and light it.  "The concert starts in two hours, and call time is in an hour."

_"Good good,"_ Hanji says.  _"I was just calling to remind you that your flight is at nine twenty-three tomorrow morning out of Trost International Airport.  You should find your ticket in your email.  I've arranged for a driver to pick you up from the airport and take you to your hotel.  Mr. Smith said you didn't have to be at the hall until Monday afternoon, at around one, so you'll have most of the day tomorrow and Monday morning to just relax after your flight.  I've also included your hotel reservation information, the itinerary that Mr. Smith gave me, and the address of the hall.  If you need anything else, just give me a holler."_

"Okay, thank you," I say, rubbing at my eyes.  It takes so much energy to keep up a conversation with her, and considering nightmares only granted me an hour of uneasy sleep last night, I really don't have the energy to spare.  "I should go practice some more.  I'll call you when I get to the hotel in Shiganshina."

_"Don't work yourself into the ground, Levi,"_ she chastises, but it's only half-heartedly.  She knows there is no convincing me about anything when it comes to playing.  _"They're broadcasting the concert over the radio, and I found out which station will be playing it, so I'll be listening!  Knock 'em dead, short stack."_

I hang up on her and finish my cigarette in peace before heading back inside.  The pain in my arm is starting to dull, so there are some preparations I'll have to make before call time rolls around.  The recent night terrors help me maintain my pain though.  The images are still burned into my eyes, and every time I close them, I see the mangled bodies of my friends.

So with my wound freshly irritated and haunting memories playing in my mind, I join the rest of the orchestra behind the curtains for the typical before-the-concert rundown.  Everyone makes sure they have their sheet music- of which I don't need any, even for my solos- and everyone prepares and inspects their instruments one last time.  Pixis bustles around, making sure everything is ready to go.  I hold my violin and bow tenderly in one hand, straightening my pristine tuxedo.  I adjust the cravat around my neck, making sure it's just tight enough and sits perfectly in place.  I also tug at the left sleeve of my white button down and the black jacket over the top, making sure the gauze and tape can't be seen.

When Pixis deems it time, everyone files orderly out onto the stage.  I hang back behind the curtains though.  Pixis will introduce me to the audience before I make my appearance.  I hear the sound of applause fill the concert hall as the orchestra takes their seats.  Pixis waits back with me as the concertmaster starts to lead the rest of the group in tuning.  After a few minutes, they finish tuning, and Pixis gives my shoulder a pat before heading out onto the stage to a new round of applause.

I take a deep breath and start the process of clearing my outer appearance of any negative emotion.  I school my features into their happy mask.  I keep my friends on my mind though, because without them, I wouldn't be able to play.  When I hear Pixis start reading off my credentials and my achievements, followed quickly by my name, I slap on a fake smile and step out from behind the curtains.  The stage lighting is bright and blinding, but it's nothing I'm not used to.  The audience applauds me as they applauded everyone else, and when I reach my chair, I turn to give them a low bow before taking my seat.

The hall falls completely, eerily silent.  All eyes are on Pixis as he takes his place on the slightly elevated podium.  When his lifts his hands to hover out in front of himself, everyone lifts their instruments into playing position.  A long beat of silence stretches, to the point where the anticipation for that first note can practically be heard throughout the hall.

Then Pixis' hands begin to move, and the concert begins.

It's during these times that I truly feel alive.  When I'm holding my beloved violin, playing for hundreds, if not thousands of people, I feel a buzz that contrasts sharply with the constant dead feeling I always have.  It's while I'm performing that I can easily imagine that my friends, and my father, are still here with me.  I can imagine them scattered throughout the orchestra, playing their instruments, their sound becoming one with mine.

I've tried to figure out where this feeling comes from, and have tried to figure out what causes it, but I can't.  I feel it when I'm just playing my violin in a practice room, or in my apartment, or just generally by myself, but it's never as prevalent as when I'm playing in a concert.  That's the sole reason that I accept so many invitations.  I have my own apartment in Karanese, but I'm almost never there.  I never moved out of it thought after I left the Karanese Orchestra.  I like knowing that I have a place to call my own, even though most of the year I'm on the road, staying in hotels.  It's almost not enough.  I would accept more invitations that would keep me travelling year round, but Hanji won't let me.  She says that it would run me into the ground, that I need a week or two to recover every now and then.  But what she doesn't understand, what she'll never understand, is that I feel the most worn down and stressed out when I'm _not_ performing.

I let the pain envelop me as the concert continues.  It starts to fade as the minutes tick by, but that feeling of being alive, that buzz, is enough to keep me going until the last piece.  Nine times out of ten, when I'm invited to play with an orchestra, I'm asked to perform a solo piece somewhere during the course of the concert.  Half of those times, it's just a short piece that serves as a sort of intermission for the orchestra, and the other half of the time, they're long compositions used as either an opening or a closing to the concert.  Pixis always has me finish out the concert, and usually with a piece of my own composition.

So when the applause of the last piece fades out into silence, I stand from my seat and take a few steps out closer to the end of the stage, facing the audience.  A quiet applause greets me, and I bow my head before bringing my violin back up to my shoulder.  I let my eyes close before lifting the bow to the strings.  The piece Pixis chose for me to play is a composition that I wrote at the height of my grief, and it reflects that state of mind.  Pixis says it's one of his favorites.  It's one of mine too.

I let my heartbreak and loss fill the concert hall.  I let it flow from my heart into my fingers, from my fingers into my strings, and my strings convert it into sound.  The pain I feel becomes pain everyone else hears.  I keep my eyes closed as I work my fingers over the strings.  My bow flows smoothly, the sound resonating off the wood.  My violin is the only thing that understands my loss.  It sings to the world just how I feel.  It takes unspoken feeling and makes it heard.  I let myself get lost in the music, letting my hands and fingers take control and play a piece that they crafted, that they've played hundreds of times.

After the final notes fade into silence, and I finally lower my violin, the concert hall erupts in cheer.  Applause echoes through the hall, replacing the sound of my violin.  I don't force myself to smile, but I fight to keep from frowning as they applaud my misery.

Pixis signals for the rest of the orchestra to stand and take a bow and the applause grows.  The audience gets to their feet and I relax slightly, knowing they are no longer cheering just for me.  I step back with the rest of the orchestra and bow as well.

It takes entirely too long for the concert to officially come to an end, but eventually, after Pixis says a few words to the audience, we clear the stage.

I waste no time carefully packing away my beloved violin and head into an empty practice room to clean myself up.  I gingerly remove the rubber band and peel off the blood soaked patch of gauze.  A new, slightly dulled sense of pain stings up my arm, but I take a deep breath and welcome that pain.

I don't cover the wound back up, simply cleaning it up before lowering my sleeve back down.  Leaving the small room, I find Pixis in the concert hall before leaving for good.  He takes my hand in a firm handshake, gripping my shoulder with his other hand.

"Your performance was spectacular, as always.  Just beautiful," he says.  "I always enjoy listening to you play.  There is so much emotion in your music.  I do hope you'll come play for us again soon?"

I'm glad that he at least can sense the emotions in my music.  I wouldn't so much call it beautiful as I would painful, but at least he hears that something is there.  I really do enjoy playing under Pixis though, so I shake his hand in return with a forced smile.  "I'll be back.  As soon as possible, Dot, I'll be back."

I leave the concert hall, hailing a taxi to take me back to my hotel.  I call Hanji on the way, and she congratulates me ecstatically on my performance.  I only half heatedly listen to Hanji ramble on.  She doesn't know about my past, or my means for being able to play my violin.  She mentioned once how my music always sounds so sad.  She said it makes me seem lonely.  And maybe I am lonely.  Hanji is the closest thing I have to a friend, despite not seeing her very often.  But that is by design.  After my father died, I pushed everyone out of my life.  I fought against relationships, refusing to let anyone in.  I didn't want to be hurt again by their loss.  So I simply isolated myself with my violin.  When I met Isabel and Farlan, I don't know what it was about them, or if I was just tired of being alone for so long, but I allowed myself to grow close to a few other people.  That turned out to be a mistake, and fate reminded me why I wasn't allowed to have anyone in my life.  So I pushed everyone out again, and ever since that accident, I've adamantly kept everyone at arm's length, including Hanji.

Back at my hotel room, I properly clean up the self inflicted wound on my arm before packing up the little things I have around the room.  I don't want to have to deal with packing tomorrow morning before my flight.

However, laying awake in bed at four o'clock in the morning, I start to wish that I had left myself something to occupy me.  My insomnia gave me just about an hour and forty-five minutes of sleep before it woke me up around three, leaving me wide awake ever since then.  As I lay there, I contemplate pulling out my violin to play, but the pain from the wound on my arm has already dulled to a useless level, so I'd have to either reopen it or create a new cut, and, although I'm irritated by my insomnia, I'm not low enough emotionally to hurt myself.

So I climb out of bed and walk over to the window.  I pull the curtains back, and the light from the nearly full moon floods the room.  I stand in front of the glass, in nothing buy my boxer briefs, and stare down at the tiny streets from so far up.  The endless noise of the city is actually calming to me.  I don't like silence.  So I open the window just a crack to let the noise into the room.

I stand in front of the glass for a moment longer, then cross over to my backpack and pull out a rigid folder.  I also grab a pencil and pen and take a seat at the desk.  Flipping open the folder. I shuffle through the dozens of pages of roughly scribbled, partial scores until I find some blank staff paper.  I pull out a thin stack, then push the folder aside and lay the staff paper out in front of me.  I've never had to hurt myself in order to compose music, just to play it.  So I let my imagination flow unhindered by my lack of physical pain, fueled by my emotional pain and by the noise of the city.

It's been light out for a good hour and a half before I finally decide to take a break from my composition to check the clock.  It's just past seven thirty.  The cab will be here in half an hour to pick me up.  I pack up my composing tools and tuck them back into my backpack.  I take a quick shower, changing into a clean set of clothes, and don't bother to eat anything before heading down to the lobby to check out and catch my cab.  I take a deep breath and try not to dwell too much on this upcoming gig in Shiganshina.  As much as I'm dreading being in one place for so long and playing with such an inexperienced group of musicians, I know that it won't be that bad.  Hopefully.  It might actually be nice to play with a young orchestra.  They'll still be full of fire and energy, things that tend to fade rather quickly on the road to becoming veterans.

I don't know where all this optimism is coming from, but I don't fight it.  I let it try to calm me as the cab brings me closer and closer to the airport.

...

I know Hanji told me that I wasn't supposed to be at the concert hall until tomorrow, but by the time I get checked into my hotel room in Shiganshina and get my things unpacked, I find myself restless.  I don't want to stay holed up in my hotel room right now.  I'm not even sure if the hall will even be open at this late hour, but I know Shiganshina holds evening practices so it could still be open.  With that thought in mind, I gather up my backpack and violin and hail another cab to take me to Shiganshina's concert hall.

When the cabbie first stops in front of the building, I almost argue with him that this can't possibly be the address I read off.  The building is so small and looks pretty nondescript, whereas most concert halls are grand and artsy and draw the eye.  This indistinguishable building can't possibly be the concert hall.  But when I look out the window and up at the front of the building, sure enough, _Maria Concert Hall_ is written across the front of the building in fancy white script.  We're in the right place.

I climb out of the cab and head into the building.  The front doors are unlocked, but the hall is pretty empty.  At least in the foyer it is.  I've never been in this hall before, so I wander aimlessly, trying to find the practice rooms.  I'm in no hurry, so I meander slowly through the halls, looking around and trying to get a feel for the place.  If I'm going to be here for three weeks, I might as well learn the layout as soon as possible.

As I walk down one narrow hallway that's a little too dark, a sound reaches my ears and I know I'm in the right place.  It's a sound that I am very familiar with, and I can feel it seep deep into my bones and relax me.  As I continue down the hall, the sound grows louder, although never growing louder than a low hum.  It would appear that these rooms aren't completely soundproofed, but well enough.

I freeze mid step in the hallway as the notes of the violin reach a very familiar pattern.  The notes, pretty deep on the register for a violin, and humming in a minor key....  That fall and that crescendo, and that staccato....  It's one of my pieces.  I shouldn't be so surprised.  My compositions are pretty popular, but it still catches me off guard.  I'm not used to hearing them while not watching, or participating in, a concert.

The notes are slightly off here and there, and the violinist stops and restarts.  I listen for another few measures, running through the familiar melody in my head, before moving closer to the room.  I quickly discover which room the sound is coming from.  The doors all have narrow windows looking into the practice room, a realization that frustrates me.  It will make it hard for me to go through my preparations.  But that thought quickly shifts to the back of my mind as I lean forward to peak through the narrow window.

The violinist is standing- I find that odd considering that violinists usually sit while they play- with his back to the door.  My eyes first fall to the instrument cradled between his shoulder and his chin.  It's a very old, very worn instrument with tiny dings and scratches littering the surface.  The finish is dull.  It bothers me, the state of the instrument, but I force myself to tear my eyes from the violin to its musician.

The first thing I notice is that he's definitely a man.  He's tall and thin, but not in a lanky kind of way.  In the middle of summer, his choice of wardrobe is a white t-shirt and light shorts that are surprisingly short.  But looking over his long, strong legs, I can't say that I'm complaining.  I even find myself wishing that they were a little shorter, which surprises me greatly.  Since when have I enjoyed looking at men's legs?  I force my eyes from the tan skin of the backs of his legs up to the rest of his body.  His arms are strong, and the muscles move smoothly beneath the sun kissed skin as he glides the bow over the strings.  The low collar of his shirt shows off just a hint of his back and the long line of his neck, which leads into a messy mop of brown hair.

I watch for another minute, and am just about to back away from the door to go find my own practice room when the bow makes a rather unpleasant sound across the strings.  I can see him exhale sharply and drop the violin to his side.  His other hand comes up, still grasping the bow, to scratch at the back of his head.  I hear him curse, a soft sound that would've gone completely unheard if I hadn't been standing right in front of the door.

Before I can stop myself, I knock on the door.  The musician startles slightly and whips around to look at me.  My breath catches in my throat.

He's younger than I had guessed him to be.  He can't be much older than his early twenties.  His face is kind with soft features, yet still maintaining a very masculine edge.  His lips are parted slightly in surprise, and his chocolate brown hair falls just shy of his wide eyes.  It's those eyes that catch my immediate attention and make my heart skip a beat in my chest.  They're absolutely stunning, a color that I instantly love, because they are almost the exact same shade of green as Isabel's.


	3. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this chapter up yesterday but yesterday turned out to be a really busy and really shitty day for me, so I'm sorry about that. But here it is finally! Enjoy.

Hundreds of memories, good and bad, flash through my mind and threaten to overwhelm me.  I see Isabel, hundreds of images of those green eyes.  They're glowing, sparkling, crying, laughing, mischievous, daring, passionate, and pained.  So many memories, so many images, so many feelings.  It takes me what feels like forever, but is really only a matter of seconds, for me to regain control of myself.

Those damn green eyes widen even further, if possible, and the kid quickly lunges forward to open the door.  I hesitate in the hall though, almost afraid to come in.  Did he see the turmoil that almost crippled me?  Did he notice my near break down?  It doesn't appear that he did though, as a huge smile threatens to split his face.  Damn, even his smile is breathtaking.

"Oh my god," he grins, and of course the sound of his voice is almost as mesmerizing as the sing of a violin.  "You're Levi Ackerman, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I find myself replying.  The reply is odd, but I find it true.  I wish I wasn't Levi Ackerman.  Levi Ackerman has a very unfortunate life, a life I wouldn't wish on anybody.

"Unfortunately?" he chuckles, his eyes glowing with amusement.  "Don't be ridiculous.  It's an honor to meet you.  I absolutely love your work."

He holds out a hand, and I don't even hesitate in reaching out to take it.  His skin is unnaturally, yet comfortably warm, and a buzz runs through my entire being with the touch.  His handshake is firm, and I grasp his hand a little longer than necessary before letting it go.

"I'm Eren, by the way," he says, his lips still smiling.  "Eren Jaeger.  So... what are you doing here?  Did I accidentally summon you by absolutely butchering your piece?"

I'm confused for a moment before I realize that it's a joke.  And I guess that was kind of funny, but the action of smiling was lost to me a long time ago.  "It wasn't that bad."

"Really?" he questions in disbelief, rubbing at the back of his head as he turns to look at the score on the stand behind him.  "It seemed pretty bad."

"It's your bridge.  It's a little crooked," I tell him, pointing to his instrument hanging by his leg.

He looks down, lifting the violin to inspect the bridge.  "Huh, you're right."  He sits down in a chair off to the side to adjust the bridge.  "Thanks.  So, uh, what are you doing here in this little concert hall?"

"I guess that your conductor never told you that he invited me to be your concertmaster for the next three weeks," I observe.

His eyes go impossibly wide again as he stares at me.  "Really?  Erwin asked you to be our concertmaster?  For three weeks?  I didn't realize Nile was leaving for that long...."

"Yes, that _is_ what I said."

"Sorry, I'm just surprised.  That's great though.  I'm second violin, first chair," he says.  "I'm trying to get better though so that I can audition for the position of concertmaster."

"Being concertmaster a lot of work, brat," I warn him.

"Yeah, but I want to do it.  I'm willing to do the work, and I'm willing to work hard to get there."

I admire the kid's determination, the way his eyes burn with passion.  He loves playing his violin, and he loves a challenge.  It's obvious, and I saw the same look in Isabel's eyes whenever she got determined about anything.  It's shocking, and nearly painful, how much like her this brat is.

"Good for you, kid," I say.  "I'll let you get back to practicing."

"Oh okay," he says, sounding disappointed.  But then he stands quickly.  "Actually, would you mind helping me with these few measures here?"

It catches me off guard how quickly I nod in agreement.  He seems delighted that I agreed, and I finally step fully into the room.  Eren steps up to his music stand, and I reach out in irritation to lower the stand.  Damn this tall brat.  I see him trying to fight a smile, but I ignore it.

"Which part is giving you trouble?" I ask him.

"This part right here," he says, pointing to the bar in question.  The score is obviously one that has been well loved by the kid.  It's crinkled and marked up by pens of a variety of different colors, a stain colors the corner of the page, and I see two places where the paper had been ripped and patched up with tape.  "I just can't get the note progression correct in the marked tempo.  I can slow it down and get it correct, even only three beats slower, but at the correct tempo, I just can't seem to get it."

"Let me hear you try," I suggest.

He nods and takes a step back, lifting the beat up violin to his chin.  I try not to pay too much attention to the dents and scratches.  He takes a deep breath, then lifts the bow to the strings.  He starts three measures behind the measure he's having trouble with.  I don't track the music on the page though.  I keep my eyes on his fingers and bow.  I have the piece memorized- I fucking wrote it, so I should have it memorized- so there's no need for me to watch the score.

His fingers move beautifully across the neck of the violin, and his strokes of the bow are smooth and graceful.  But when he reaches the problematic measure, I note how his fingers tense up ever so slightly and his bow wrist stiffens.  He hits the wrong note, then another, then falls off beat before giving up and lowering the violin sharply.

"See?  I just can't seem to get through that progression," he says in clear frustration.

"I think it's all in your head," I say.  I point to the sheet music, letting my finger track across the measures as I speak.  "Everything building up to that measure is at a slower tempo and is comprised of much easier progressions.  I think you're just getting yourself all worked up, anticipating the approaching harder progression, and then when you get there, you fumble over it.  Your fingers are tensing and your bow wrist gets very stiff."

He nods and tries again, turning back to the sheet music and raising the violin.  He tries the progression again, with the same results.  I can see the frustration growing on his face, but so is his determination to get it right.

"Loosen up.  You're too tense.  Take a few deep breathes, and don't forget to breathe while you're playing.  Concentrate on breathing, not on what's coming up," I suggest, trying to approach the problem from another angle.

He tries the progression again, and he almost makes it through before his fingers grow tense again and he misses the strings on the last few notes.

"Can you play it really quick?  I want to hear how it's supposed to sound," he asks.

I stare at him a long minute, my mind racing.  I want to.  I have my violin case still gripped in my hand.  But I need to get prepared before I can play.  This particular piece is a very emotional one, and I know I won't be able to play it without self harming first.  I could probably scratch the old wound enough to make it work.  And I just have to play those few measures right?  I could probably do it, even without scratching.

I start to feel anxious as I think all this over in my head.  My heart is racing, and I'm not quite sure why.  I quickly decide that I can't play in front of this brat.  Not without the proper preparations.  I'm not used to playing in front of just one other person, in an interactive setting.  I only play in front of audiences, masses of faceless people, or completely alone.  So even if it is just a few bars, I don't think I'd be able to pull it off.  And how embarrassing would it be to fuck up my own piece?

"Do you have those bars memorized?" I ask him, quickly coming up with another suggestion.

"Yeah," he replies, glancing at the sheet.

"Your problem is not needing to hear it played correctly.  You know what it's supposed to sound like," I tell him, and he looks disappointed when it becomes apparent that I'm not going to play the bars.  "Try closing your eyes and playing it.  Maybe not looking at it will help."

He nods and this time, when he lifts the violin to his chin, he closes his eyes.  He hesitates before playing, but then moves the bow across the strings, filling the small room with sound.  He easily plays through the pick-up measures, then when he gets to the challenging measures, he plays right through them.  He doesn't falter, doesn't miss a note, doesn't miss a beat.  It flows beautifully from his instrument, and when the progression comes to an end, his eyes fly open in excitement.

"Fucking finally!"

He slaps a hand over his mouth and shoots me a worried look.  I snort.  "Don't worry about it, brat.  I can guarantee I have a worse mouth than you do.  Good job.  I told you it was all in your head."

He grins at me and turns back to the sheet music to play it again.  I take that opportunity to leave the practice room.  I don't say a word to him, and he's too caught up in the music to notice me leave.

...

I stay and practice at the hall until two in the morning when jet lag and the fact that I've slept _maybe_ eight hours total in the last week catches up to me.  I hail a cab to take me back to the hotel, which conveniently is only two blocks away.  I'll probably walk back and forth if it's light outside.  But I don't want to walk home in the dark.  I don't want to risk getting mugged and losing my six thousand dollar violin.  I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to it.

Ever since I walked out of Eren's practice room, the kid has been on my mind.  Even while practicing, I hadn't needed to focus solely on the pain.  However, when thoughts of the brat distracted me too much from the pain, my playing suffered and I had to press my thumb into my arm to get myself to concentrate.  But the green eyed kid never completely left my subconscious.  I don't know what it is about him.  I want to say that his eyes, Isabel's eyes, unnerve me.  But if that were the case, those eyes would make me uncomfortable.  It's just the opposite though.  If anything, I'm _too_ comfortable with them.  I just want to get lost in them.

But it's not just Eren's eyes.  That damn smile of his, a smile so bright that it could give the sun and stars a run for their money, was captivating.  And just the sheer passion that emanated from him was stunning.  The way he talked about how he is going to become concertmaster.  There was so much determination, so much will, that I believe it will happen.  I know it will happen.  How can it not?

The brat is dangerous, I realize as I lay awake at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling.  Even though I can't figure out why, there is something about him that is drawing me in, and I can't let that happen.  I can't get attached to this kid.  I need to push him out, keep him at arm's length, just like everyone else.  I can't let him in.  It will only hurt me, and I can't live through more pain.  So it's better to not get close to anyone to begin with.

It shouldn't be too hard to avoid Eren.  He's a second violin, so he won't even sit in the same section as me.  As concertmaster, I'll have to oversee the entire orchestra under the conductor, but I shouldn't have to have any direct contact with the brat.  I'll avoid him in the practice rooms, I'll avoid him before and after rehearsals, I'll just avoid all unnecessary contact with him.  Or with anybody, for that matter.  It'll be no different than anywhere else I've ever played.  It will be fine.

...

That morning I leave early to head to the concert hall.  I decide to walk, even though it's still a little dark outside.  At this time of the morning, the air is still cool enough that my long sleeve button down and my dark slacks aren't uncomfortable.  I know if it were any later and any warmer, I would be sweating, but right now it feels nice.  It calms my still buzzing mind.  On the few occasions I sleep long enough and well enough to dream, I am always graced with vivid nightmares.  Last night was no exception.

I hold a lit cigarette in one hand and my violin in the other, my backpack hanging off of my shoulders.  I take a look around, making note of the little shops and stores along this street.  There is a tiny market that I can make use of, and a laundry mat that will come in handy.  Overall this part of Shiganshina seems pretty calm and quiet for being in downtown.  Perhaps that's because it's barely five o'clock in the morning, but I have a feeling that it's normally like this, even during midday.

The concert hall seems pretty desolate when I arrive, and I make my way into the very last practice room in the hall.  I can't help but listen for the tune of my own composition, echoing from the strings of a worn violin, but of course I don't hear it.  It embarrasses me how much I'm disappointed at not hearing the sound, so I duck my head and continue faster towards the small room that I've deemed to be mine for the remainder of these next three weeks.  Last night, I had figured out that if I sit one of the front corners of the room, I can't be seen through the narrow window on the door.  So I drag my chair and stand over to the corner and set everything up, positioning the back of the chair against the wall and the stand out in front of me.  The stand is still visible from the window, so at least people will know someone is in here and won't disturb me.  I still roll my sleeve back down over the towel and rubber band though, should anyone decide to enter without knocking first.

I practice all morning, only taking a break to walk across the street to the grocery store to get something to eat.  When noon rolls around, I start to pack up my instrument.  Not because I'm done practicing, but because the group meets at one for rehearsal.  And the noise floating from the numerous practice rooms down the hall has been rising and rising for the last hour or so, but now it's taken a sudden drop.  Everyone else is packing up to head to the hall for rehearsal.  I find it odd that rehearsal doesn't start until one in the afternoon, and wonder at the possible reasons for that as I get ready to leave.  I replace the thick, bloody towel with a thinner strip of gauze, then make sure any evidence on my arm is hidden completely by the sleeve of my button down.  I also make sure my violin is snuggly put away in its case before heading out to find the concert hall.

I'm meandering through the small building, making it all the way out to the foyer before seeing signs for the general public, pointing out how to get to the hall.  I was looking for the backstage entrance, but I guess the audience entrance will get me there just the same.

"Mr. Ackerman?" a deep, authoritative voice says from behind me.

I turn around to see a tall blond man making his way towards me.  He's wearing a light grey suit with a white button down beneath and, oddly enough, a green bolo tie instead of a standard tie.  He too wears his hair in an undercut, but unlike mine, his blond hair is neatly styled back to complete the very handsome, smooth look he pulls off.  I won't deny that he's very attractive- honestly, when did I start finding men attractive?- but I immediately find myself comparing his looks to Eren's.  They are so different that it's hard to compare them, but it doesn't take me long at all to realize that I'm much more attracted to that brat than I am this man.  I shouldn't be attracted to anyone, though.  I _can't_ be attracted to anyone.

The annoyingly tall man shifts a thick binder over to his left hand and holds out his right to me, flashing me a smile complete with perfectly white teeth.  "I'm Erwin Smith, the conductor of this modest little orchestra.  It's a pleasure to meet you."

I shake his large hand, not feeling the need to introduce myself.  He already knows who I am.  "The pleasure is mine," I reply out of formality.  "I very much look forward to playing with your group."

He looks pleased by my response, despite it obviously being an automatic one.  "Come," he says, and leads me through a set of double doors that lead into the side of the rows and rows of audience seating.

The concert hall is smaller than any I've ever performed in during the last decade and a half.  It has a few short sections of seating, and I can see that there is a balcony above me.  It appears to be able to seat at most one thousand people.  Most of the halls I perform in can seat upwards of three thousand.  But I find myself liking this hall, as Erwin leads me down the aisles towards the stage.  It's homey, not too overbearing, and just overall comfortable.

The stage is small as well, and a number of chairs and stands are set up in the usual half circle pattern, all facing a very short conductor's platform.  Most of the seats are full already, and noise fills the hall, everyone practicing on their instruments completely independently from everyone else.  While most people, especially non-musicians, find this noise obnoxious and irritating, I take comfort in it.  It's a familiar noise, a noise that means beautiful music is about to be played.

Although I try to force myself not to look, it's a quickly lost battle and even before we reach the stage I find myself scanning the seats for a familiar mop of brown hair.  I find him in front of the second violin section, playing a tune I can't hear over the sound of everyone else.  He's lost in his music, completely tuning out the noise of those surrounding him.  It's beautiful, the way his eyes shine, the way they focus on the paper in front of him, the slight crease in his brow as he concentrates, the way he momentarily sticks his tongue out ever so slightly when he comes to a challenging part.  I didn't get to see this yesterday, because I had been standing next to him instead of in front of him.  But now I can't look away.  The brat is breathtaking and I am so fucking screwed.

Erwin and I climb the few steps up onto the stage, and I follow him towards the conductor's platform.  He pulls a baton tube from an inside pocket of his suit and removes the baton.  He taps it on his stand a few times, the sharp clicks echoing through the hall and calling the groups attention.  The sound quickly dies down to complete silence as everyone lowers their instruments into their laps.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Erwin greets with a smile.  "I want to start off by saying, again, how marvelous of a job everyone did during the performance on Saturday night.  I've been receiving nonstop praise on your performance, and I can't be more proud.  Congratulations."

A round of applause echoes through the group, a few of them cheering and high fiving, others laughing amongst each other.  I'm momentarily surprised, but I try to keep it off my face.  I've never seen such a friendly bond amongst an orchestra before.  They could all be one big family, the way they're acting with each other.  Maybe all smaller groups are like this, I don't know.  I'm used to the large, world renowned groups where the musicians are older, more experienced, more withdrawn, and treat it like a job.

Erwin raises his hand to call their attention back.  "Now, I have some good news, and I have some bad news.  The bad news: Nile will _not_ be returning, unlike what we previously assumed.  Saturday was his last performance with us."  A confused murmur begins to rumble through the group, but Erwin quickly draws their focus back to him.  "The good news though, is that Levi Ackerman has agreed to be our guest concertmaster for the next three weeks while I decide who will permanently replace Nile."

All eyes turn to me in shock.  They all know my name, but most people don't know the face that belongs with the name.  They know me for my music.  So when Erwin introduces me, I can physically feel everyone's surprise.  The only one who doesn't look in awe over this development is Eren.  He looks around at his fellow musicians with a soft chuckle, then looks back to me with a small smile.

"Before we start, I'd like to introduce a few people," Erwin says aside to me, but loud enough for the rest of the group to hear.

Erwin goes through a short list of people, all of them being the section leaders of their groups.  Each stands when Erwin calls their name.  The first name he calls is Eren's.  Then, the viola's section leader, a short girl with blonde hair named Historia Reiss.  The cello's section leader is a short boy, also with blonde hair, introduced as Armin Arlert.  Then Sasha Braus, an eccentric girl with brown hair that kind of reminds me of Hanji, the section leader for the double basses.  Mikasa Ackerman is a flautist introduced as the section leader for the woodwinds.  She's an intimidating looking girl with short black hair who doesn't even smile when introduced.  The two of us will get along just fine.  The section leader for the brass section is a bald kid with a goofy grin and a trumpet, introduced as Connie Springer.  The percussion section leader is a horsefaced kid with two toned hair, introduced as Jean Kirschtein.  Annie, an intense looking blonde girl, is introduced as the harpist.  Finally, the pianist is introduced as Mike Zacharias, a tree of a man with darker blond hair and a scruffy beard.  I hope Erwin realizes that I'm never going to remember all of those names.

I'm surprised that, with the exception of Mike, and a few others scattered throughout the orchestra, everyone is so young.  Everyone introduced to me, again with the exception of Mike, look like kids.  I guess that would explain their overly friendly attitude towards each other.  It's a group of rowdy teenagers.  I'm already starting to regret agreeing to this gig, but I haven't even played with them yet, so I shouldn't judge too soon.  They could all be astounding musicians.

"How about you take a seat," Erwin says to me, gesturing to the empty first chair seat of the first violins section, "and we'll get started."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And cue pinning Levi. I am going to thoroughly enjoy writing pinning Levi. I've written a lot of pinning Eren in my other fics so now it's Levi's turn :3


	4. Request

The orchestra is definitely young, definitely new, and definitely inexperienced.  But I have to admit that they're all immensely talented.  As concertmaster, I am basically 'second in command' to the conductor as far as running this orchestra.  This is nothing new to me, as I've been a concertmaster many times.  At Sina Institute, I was the concertmaster of my class, even though I was much younger than all of my classmates.  The three years I played in Karanese, I was concertmaster.  I'm not unfamiliar with the roles of concertmaster.  But I have to say that the position of concertmaster for this group will prove to be a challenge for me.  Not because they are a bad group, but only because I've never played with such a group before.

From the first minute I stepped into my role as concertmaster, simply leading the tuning, I could sense that these next three weeks would be an adventure.  I could feel the energy around me as, slowly, one by one, the other musicians joined in on my ringing note, tuning their instruments to mine.  And during the few easy warm up tunes, the entire atmosphere felt very unfamiliar to me.  Usually the warm up pieces bore advanced groups like this.  They're too easy, too effortless, and the group just seems eager to get on to the actual performance pieces.  But this group plays their warm up pieces as if we were currently sitting in front of an audience.  They put their hearts into their instruments.

When the warm ups come to an end, Erwin steps down from the podium and pulls out a thick stack of papers from his folder.  I automatically stand, knowing the drill, along with the rest of the section leaders.  He divvies up the scores by section and passes the smaller stacks off to their appropriate leaders, who then in turn pass out the scores to their group.  I take my seat again and open the score on my stand, getting ready to play whichever bars Erwin wants to test out.  But I'm surprised when the rest of the orchestra stands and collects their things as if getting ready to leave.

"With new scores, Erwin has us split off into our sections to practice as groups," Eren's voice says suddenly from at my shoulder.  I startle slightly and look up at him.  "Once we get a start on learning the pieces as sections, then Erwin will bring us back together to start practicing it as an orchestra."

How odd, I can't help but think.  But I don't question what Eren says, instead standing and following the rest of my group, along with Eren's I notice, off of the back of the stage.  I watch as the rest of the orchestra heads into a hall and starts disappearing into a number of rooms.  Surely not all fifteen of us will be cramming into one practice room, right?  And is Eren's group joining us?  Are all violins practicing together, instead of divided into first violins and second violins?  Well if fifteen of us won't fit in one practice room, thirty-one of us definitely won't.

But when Eren opens one of the doors, I see that the rooms in this hallway are not normal practice rooms.  They're much bigger, with many chairs and stands.  These are group practice rooms, and this one is definitely big enough to fit all of us, first and second violins together.

"Normally first and second violins separate, since our pieces are as different from each other as they are from the trumpets, but seeing as it's your first day with an unfamiliar orchestra, I decided that we should all practice together," Eren tells me with a smile.

I just nod, absent mindedly scratching at my arm.  The pain shoots through my anxiety, but it doesn't lessen it.  I know I'll get used to this odd style of running an orchestra, but at the moment it's all so new and different that it's making me nervous.  Well I won't have to deal with it for long.  Only three weeks.  I can handle three weeks.

Everyone rearranges the chairs into a pattern they deem comfortable.  There is no rhyme or reason to it.  The chairs are just haphazardly placed about the room.  But everyone seems to be somewhat facing Eren and I seated up against one wall.  Eren is even turned slightly towards me.

"Before we start, can we hear you play, Mr. Ackerman?" a girl to my right asks.  Murmurs of agreement run through the room and Eren turns his wide eyes onto me, full of hope and excitement.  How could I possibly say no to that?

"Alright," I agree with a shrug.  "What do you want me to play?"

Before any suggestions can be made, Eren hastily digs through his folder to produce the well worn, well loved copy of the score I helped him with yesterday, the score that I composed.  He puts it on my stand and I sigh with a nod.  I hand him back the score though.  I don't need it.

The room grows stiflingly quiet as I lift my violin to my chin.  I can literally hear each individual breathing, the creak of their chairs, the occasional click of a bow stick accidentally coming in contact with the body of a violin.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath before letting my bow slide across the strings to fill the room with music.

I nearly get lost in the sound, but when I remember where I am, I open my eyes.  Everyone is watching me in wonder, and when I catch sight of Eren, my bow nearly falters on the strings.  He's staring at me with those beautiful wide eyes, full of awe.  His lips are parted slightly, and he's leaning ever so slightly towards me.  It's almost impossible, but I force myself to look away from those stunning eyes and to focus on the instrument beneath my fingers.

I let my eyes close again, diving into the song, recalling all of the feelings and emotions that I had poured into this particular composition.  I don't even have to think about it, I don't even have to try.  The loss and grief flows effortlessly from the strings, filling the small room.  It's nothing new, nothing different.  With my eyes closed, it's easy to pretend that I'm in a practice room, and not surrounded by only a few others in an interactive setting.  When I finish the piece, the last note echoing through the small room, I open my eyes to a room full of awed expressions.  They all look shocked.

"I've... I've heard that piece played wrong my whole life," Eren suddenly breathes, shattering the silence.

The girl to my left, the one that requested I play something, looks like she's about to cry.  "You're right, Eren," she breathes, tugging at one of her loose black ponytails.  "You play it with so much more... emotion."

"I could _feel_ your pain," a blonde kid with thick sideburns points out.

"What inspired that piece?"  Eren is the one who asks that question, and I hesitantly turn to regard him.  He's leaning even closer now, his elbows resting on his knees with his instrument and bow dangling between his legs.  "I mean, if that's something you don't want to share, that's fine.  I can tell it's something very personal to you."

I shake my head, my brow drawing down into a frown.  "Don't we have a piece we're supposed to be learning?"

Everyone seems to snap to attention, straightening in their seats and focusing on the music in front of them.  Even Eren straightens in his seat, turning to face forward again.  He has a guilty look in his eyes.  I get the strongest urge to pat him on the shoulder and tell him that it's fine.  Or to reach up and rub away the crease between his eyebrows.  But I keep my hands to myself and force my attention away from him and onto the piece.

"Okay, uhm, I guess I'll lead the practice this time?  Just so you get a feel of how these things go," Eren tells me.

I nod, not saying anything else.  He signals for everyone to get ready to play.  "Let's just start from the beginning, and we'll take this at half tempo," he instructs.  "We'll play the first page, but skip measures eleven through... fourteen.  We'll come back to those later."  He glances over at my first violin sheet, then nods in affirmation for the first violins to do the same.  He pulls a wooden pencil from his music folder and taps it against his metal stand, setting a slow tempo.  " _One_ two three four, _one_ two three four."

The first violins start on the upbeat, and I listen to Eren tap away for only a few more beats as I play before I tune him out.  I play a little louder than marked to hold the tempo as Eren stops his tapping.  He picks up his instrument and begins to play when the second violins come in.  Everyone listens to my violin, keeping tempo with me as we play.  It sounds pretty good considering everyone is sight reading the piece.  I've played this piece before, so I can allow myself to split my concentration between my playing and the rest of the room, listening for any mistakes or anyone losing their tempo.  I can hear a first violin starting to split, and Eren hears it at the exact same time as I do, because we both start verbally counting the tempo at the same time.

"Cut, cut," Eren exhales sharply after a few more bars.  The music cuts off and everyone lowers their violins.  "Someone in the back is off by half a beat.  Listen to Mr. Ackerman and I for the tempo.  Pay attention guys."

Eren counts us in again and we start from the beginning.  The familiar score and the slow tempo allow me to continuously look up and scan the group.  I notice a younger girl in the back frowning at her score, her bow paused on the strings.  I stand and walk around the group.  The music stops and all eyes turn on me, along with the wide eyes of the girl.  I kneel next to her, looking up at her score.  First violin.  So I guess that means I'm in charge of her.

"What part are you stuck on?" I ask her.

"Uhm..." she murmurs nervously.  "This measure right here."

I help her with the measure, as does the other first violinist next to me.  Once she is a little more comfortable with the phrase, I return to my seat.  The rehearsal continues in a similar fashion for the rest of the afternoon, Eren leading us slowly through the piece, and the two of us helping those that need assistance.  I actually find that I enjoy this method of rehearsal.  I was worried about the interactive nature of the method, but it's not too bad.

Around eight thirty, Erwin knocks on the door before entering.

"How is it going?" he questions, pulling up a chair between Eren and I and taking a seat.  He looks between us, then focuses his blue eyes on me.  "I hope Eren is showing you the ropes?"

"Yes," I reply with a nod, "he's teaching me how rehearsals are run.  It's very... interesting.  I've never participated in such a rehearsal."

"Will you be able to work like this?" Erwin asks.

"I think so.  I'm enjoying it thus far, and I find that it is a good way to learn the music."

"Good," he smiles before looking over at Eren.  "You're all dismissed for the day.  Good job and I'll see you all tomorrow afternoon."

Everyone starts to pack up their instruments and music, but Erwin hangs around.  I get the feeling he wants to talk to me once everyone leaves.  Eren gives Erwin a quick rundown of our rehearsal as everyone files out of the room.  When he finishes, he gives me a smile and a wave before he too leaves.

"If you agree to stay for the next three weeks then I'll get a contract for you and we'll arrange for your payment."

I nod, following Erwin from the room.

"Why are your rehearsals so late in the day?" I find myself asking.  I don't really care, it's just so different from any other orchestra I've ever played with and I guess I am slightly curious.

"Most of my musicians are college students, and they have classes in the morning."

"College students?  I guess that explains why they all look so young."

Erwin chuckles.  "Yeah, they're all a bunch of kids.  It makes them fun to work with though.  Most of them attend Shiganshina Academy of the Arts.  It has an outstanding music program.  My musicians are all very talented."  I admire the way he speaks about his musicians.  He speaks as if he were talking about his own children.  It's obvious he cares a lot about them, and it only further cements that feeling of 'family' that I get from observing this group.  "So what are your thoughts on Jaeger?"

My steps nearly falter, and I struggle to cover up my surprise.  What does he mean by that question?  I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my attraction to the other violinist, but was I really being that obvious?  If he did notice, then what does he want to say about it?

"I think he has the potential for concertmaster, but I'd really like an outside opinion," he continues and I breathe a sigh of relief.  He just wants my expert opinion.  He didn't notice anything.

"I haven't had the chance to observe him enough to form a definite opinion, but it is evident that the boy is determined enough to put in the effort required to earn the position of concertmaster," I answer as Erwin opens a door that leads into a small office.  "From what I've observed thus far, I can comfortably agree that he does have potential to be a great violinist.  He just needs the proper guidance."

I follow him inside and he gestures for me to take a seat.  "I'm glad you said that, because I have a rather... odd request."

I regard Erwin hesitantly as he takes a seat behind his desk.  "And what might that be?"

"I know that you've never taken an apprentice before, as far as I've heard, and I'm not necessarily asking for you to take one now, but I was hoping that you could work individually with Jaeger on top of the regularly scheduled rehearsals.  You're an outstanding violinist, Mr. Ackerman, and I know that Eren could learn a lot from you.  Of course, you are free to refuse."

I just stare at him a long moment, trying to make sense of what he's asking.  I manage to keep my expression neutral though as my mind runs a million miles an hour.  "You want me to give Jaeger lessons?"

"Yes, I suppose that is one way to put it," he says, leaning back in his chair.  "You are right when you say that it'll take a lot of effort for him to get where he needs to be in order to be promoted to concertmaster.  But I feel like with your help, he could do it.  Just for the three weeks you are here.  I won't be able to compensate you any extra for your time spent with him, but-"

"I'll do it," I interrupt him.  I know that it's a bad idea for me to accept, but I can't stop myself.  This will mean more time together with Eren.

"Perfect," he says with a smile.  "I'll speak with Eren and arrange a time for him to meet with you.  Now that that's squared away, let's go over your contract."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, in a week I'll be moving to Japan to do a semester abroad there. This means that my writing time will be greatly limited. So the time between updates could be really long. On top of that my internet access is also going to be limited which could also affect when I update. I'll try not to leave too much time between updates, but FotP is still my main focus right now, so I can't promise anything.


	5. Lessons Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to post this chapter ._. I've been struggling to write anything recently. But I finally got it finished! I know it's short, I hate posting chapters that are less than 3k, but I've done it twice in a row. Sorry orz

As soon as I leave the concert hall, I begin to regret my decision to give Eren lessons.  I can't be getting close to this boy.  Walking back to my hotel, I scratch at the gauze under my long sleeve shirt.  The wounds beneath sting, but it doesn't help distract my mind from my bad decision.  So I pull a cigarette from the pack in my pocket, then hesitate for a moment before lighting it, my mind racing.

I can still give Eren lessons while remaining detached.  It'll be a purely professional relationship.  I won't let myself grow close to the boy.  I shouldn't kid myself like that, but I need to at least try.  Besides, why does it matter if I get attached to him?  There's no way he'd ever return the feelings.  What would he possibly see in me?  I have nothing to offer him to get attached with.

I let the lit cigarette hang limp between my lips as I scratch at the wounds again.  I'm such a fucking mess.  I shouldn't worry about getting too attached to Eren because there is no way in hell he'll ever return my affections.

...

When I wake up and look at the clock, I'm shocked to see that I actually managed to get an entire four hours of sleep.  Sitting up in bed, I sit on the edge and stare at the ugly carpet pattern.  I wonder when I'll start giving Eren lessons.  I still regret my decision to agree to that, but I might as well give it a shot.  What's the worst that will happen?  I'll grow attached to him then have to leave him in three weeks?  I'm used to dealing with people I care about leaving, and this time I'll be the one that's leaving.  I don't know how much more pain I can deal with, but at least I'll be able to handle it knowing that I didn't lose him because he died, like everyone else has.

I get ready to go to the concert hall, and leave the hotel at just after six in the morning.  The morning is quiet, but there are people moving around downtown, dressed up in their suits, heading to their jobs.  Nobody gives me a second glance, just an ordinary man carrying a violin case and walking towards the concert hall.  When I reach the hall, I enter through the unlocked front doors, but it is soon apparent that I'm the only one here.

I enter the last practice room at the end of the hall and go through my whole routine before picking up my violin to start practicing.  But I'm not able to really dive into the music.  At least not right away.  Of course that kid is still on my mind.  I keep thinking about having to give him lessons, and how I'll be able to handle it.  I keep thinking about how I'll need to try really hard not to get too attached to him, and hoping that it'll be enough.  Hopefully if he remains detached and uninterested in me, it'll make it easier for me.

I don't realize that I managed to get lost in the music until a knock on the door snaps me back into the present.  I quickly roll down my sleeve to hide the fresh gauze spotted with blood, then stand to answer the door.  I pull it open to see Eren standing there, his violin case held in his hand.

"Uh, sorry if I'm disturbing you.  Erwin told me that you were going to start giving me lessons?  Uh, and that I should talk to you to arrange a time," he tells me.

"Oh," I murmur, still a little surprised to see him here.  I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, reading the time.  "It's only eight.  Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Not if I emailed my professor to tell him I'm sick," he says with a shrug and a chuckle that makes my heart flutter.  Oh fuck this is not going to turn out well.

"You don't look sick," I observe, heading back into the practice room to pick up my violin.

Eren follows me in.  "Don't tell my professor that."  And again with that damn chuckle.  "When I got that message from Erwin this morning I was really excited.  I wouldn't have been able to focus on the lecture anyway.  Is it true then?  That you told Erwin you'd give me lessons?"

"Yeah,  I guess I did tell him that," I reply.  "Don't make me regret it kid."

"Oh I won't I promise!" he says, an excited grin spreading across his face.  "Uhm, so when did you want to arrange practices for?"

"That's up to you.  You're the one with the busy schedule."

"Well, I don't have anything after rehearsals," he tells me.

"Then how about we meet for an hour every day at ten?  Rehearsals end at nine, so that'll give you an hour to get something to eat and take a break before we start," I tell him.  "Or is that too late for you?"

"Nope, that'll work out just fine," he says.  "Wow... thank you so much, Mr. Ackerman, this is such an honor."

"I said don't make me regret this, brat," I tell him, trying to ignore how much his excitement to work with me is getting to me.  "And just call me Levi."

"Okay," he smiles.  "Uhm, I should get back to campus though.  I have Symphonic Band rehearsal at nine."

"I thought you were sick," I point out.

He shrugs with a smirk.  "Never too sick for Symphonic Band.  Unless I'm bleeding from my eyeballs or I'm in a vegetative state, Dr. Shadis will have my head."

"Then I guess you better get going then."

He nods and heads to the door, waving as he leaves.  "See you at rehearsal."

"See you, kid."

...

Today for rehearsal the first and second violins split up like they usually do.  But the second violins end up in the room right next door to ours and Eren lets me know that if I need any help I just have to step next door and ask.  So I practice with my group of first violins, working hard to teach them the new sheets.  When I signed the contract with Erwin yesterday afternoon, he gave me the performance schedules.  These next two weeks will only be rehearsals, and then there will be one concert Sunday afternoon, Wednesday night, Friday night, Saturday afternoon and night, then finally Sunday afternoon.  So we have plenty of time to prepare.

That is, if I can focus on the music.  I start off well enough, leading my group of musicians in learning the first page of the first score.  But after about an hour, as we're moving on to the third page, I find my thoughts drifting.  I glance at the clock on the wall.  There are still so many hours left until I'll be meeting Eren for our private lessons.  What should I even be teaching him?  These lessons are to prepare him to be concertmaster, so it will not only be about the music, but also about how to lead an orchestra as well.  He already has experience leading one group.  And from what I saw yesterday, he definitely is able to lead.  I'll just have to teach him how to lead an entire group instead of just one section.

I try to distract myself from thoughts of being alone with Eren for an hour with thoughts of what I'll teach him.  I also try to focus more on the music I'm playing now and on how my group is doing.  The afternoon progresses slowly.  So slowly.  But two hours before rehearsal is due to end, Erwin stops by the practice room to gather everyone back into the main concert hall.  We head as a group to the hall, group after group slowly filing into the open room.  The first violins are the first to take their seats, and the second violins are the last to join us.

I watch Eren enter the room.  I try to keep my staring discrete, and it seems to work because he doesn't notice my eyes on him.  He stops at the cellos to talk to the first cello, the small blond boy.  Armin, I believe his name is.  Eren says something to Armin and the boy giggles.  A smile splits Eren's face and he laughs, and even from across the entire orchestra, I can hear the beautiful sound and it makes my heart race.  Eren continues to his seat, and this time he does look up to meet my eyes.  I look down at my instrument quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring.

Erwin steps up to the podium and instructs us to open the first score.  He wants to hear our progress and give the groups some pointers based on where they are so far.  We start playing the score and Eriwn works us slowly through the music.  He stops us to point out errors and to give groups and section leaders things to work on.  I pay attention to him and what he says, and the movement of his baton, but it's hard when I can feel a certain pair of green eyes on me.

Erwin leads us through scores and exercises for the rest of rehearsal.  He even goes over by about ten minutes before finally releasing us.  Everyone starts to pack up their instruments, but I don't.  I simply stand and make my way out of the hall towards the practice rooms.  I can get almost an hour of independent practicing in before I'm alone in a room with the brat.  Besides, the pain is starting to dull.  I need to remedy that.

I feel someone following after me, so when get into a practice room, I don't roll up my sleeve right away.  And sure enough, after a short moment, there's a knock on my door before it opens and Eren peeks his head in.  I don't look at him, instead opting to focus on my sheet music as I place it on the stand, despite that I won't be needing it at all.

"Uhm, I'm running across the street with the guys to get sandwiches at that little deli," he tells me.

"You don't need to tell me.  Just be back in time for our lesson," I retort, still not looking at him.  I need to get my racing pulse under control first.

"Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with us," he continues.

He wants me to join him and his friends?  Why?  They're all a bunch of college kids and I'm a thirty-year-old depressed man obsessed with his instrument.  I don't belong with his crowd.

"I need to do my own practicing.  And I'm not hungry," I tell him.  "Be back here at ten.  Don't be late."

I still don't look up at him.  I don't want to see those eyes.  They might end up changing my mind and I really don't want to go out with a bunch of college students and embarrass myself.  What would I even talk about with them?  My violin?  That's the only thing in my life right now worth telling.  There literally is nothing else to talk about.  And I doubt they want to hear about that.  They spend enough time focused on their music at school and in rehearsals.

Eren leaves and I roll up my sleeve after another minute.  The gauze isn't as soaked through as it usually is.  And now that I think about it, I don't really feel the need to aggravate the cut.  I just started to out of habit.  Instead of removing the gauze and rubbing at the wound or scratching at it like I usually would, I simply press down on the gauze until the wounds start to throb again.  That ends up being good enough and I roll my sleeve back down before picking up the violin to play.

The throbbing doesn't last, and after about forty-five minutes, I decide that I need to do something now before Eren shows up.  So I reopen a wound, reapply the gauze, then roll my sleeve back down before picking my violin back up to play.  It's not long after that there is a knock on the door.  I stand to open it for Eren and he enters, carrying his violin and a folder of sheet music.

He takes a seat on the piano bench, since I'm occupying the only chair in the room.  "Should I go steal a stand from one of the other rooms?" he asks me.

"No, that won't be necessary," I tell him.  "You can use mine."

He nods and pulls my music stand in front of himself, settling his scores on the stand.  He places his violin case in his lap and quickly gets to work preparing his violin.  I decide to take that time to explain to him how these sessions are going to go.

"Being concertmaster definitely requires that you be very good on the musical end of things, so we will be dealing a lot with the instrument and playing, but it also requires a great deal of leadership skills," I tell him.  He watches me with attentive eyes, focusing on absorbing every word I say and committing them to memory.  I sigh.  "Keep preparing your instrument, just listen while you do it.  As I was saying, you need to know how to lead.  You already have experience leading a section, but the jump from leading a section to leading the entire orchestra is quite a big one.  You have to know exactly what to listen for, exactly how to correct problems with instruments you have no idea how to play, and many other things.  It's those things that I'll attempt to teach you in these three weeks."

He finishes preparing his violin and looks up at me with a determined nod.

"But we will be working mostly with music so pull out a piece you've been struggling with," I tell him.

He does as I ask and I have him play through it a few times, noting all the places that he has trouble with.  For the next hour, we focus on the one piece, playing it over and over again to the point where I think the both of us are getting sick of listening to it.  But we carry on anyway, and slowly Eren starts to get the hang of it.  I also start to get a handle on Eren's playing skills, making mental notes on how he plays, the little habits he has- both good and bad-, and how he works through problem areas.

As I watch him play, I try to focus solely on his instrument, his fingers on the neck, and his bow arm, as well as the music flowing from his violin.  But I find that my focus easily drifts.  While I'm focused on his long fingers shifting on the strings of the neck, my eyes will wander down his bare arm, the cords of muscle evident as he plays. Up to his shoulder hidden beneath the violin, to his long, slender neck, curved to pin his violin to his shoulder with his chin.  A strong chin with a perfect jaw line.  Sharp defined cheekbones.  And those eyes.  It's so easy to get lost in those eyes, and I catch myself doing it a lot.  The way they shine and glow, scanning the sheet music with a sense of determination and a willpower to play it right.  He is beautiful.  And something deep within me aches as I watch those bright green eyes.

The lesson ends, and as I watch Eren leave the practice room, I feel like I was the one who learned more of a lesson today.  I learned that there is no controlling my desire for Eren, and that I am beyond screwed.


	6. A Close Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygod I'm so sorry for such a long wait guys orz but I've been very busy, and I will continue to be pretty busy, so unfortunately I won't be able to promise a shorter wait for the next chapter. But thank all of you for baring with me! Those of you who follow me on Tumblr may have seen my few updates a couple of days ago and knew this chapter was coming soon, but those of you who don't, I'm sorry for such a long delay.

The concert hall is very quiet when I enter the next morning, as it is every morning.  I make my way down the now familiar halls towards my preferred practice room at the end.  Eren and our lesson last night are on my mind as I go through my routine and get ready to practice.  I really don't know what to do about him anymore.  I keep telling myself that I need to push him away like I do with everyone else, that I can't have him getting close to me.  But is it really him that is the problem?  I'm realizing that it's me that's the problem.  I can't control these obnoxious feelings that nearly consume me every time I am anywhere near him.  I tell myself I need to distance myself from him, but I'm learning that that won't be as easy as I hoped.

I can't even keep the damn kid out of my mind when I want to practice.  With an aggravated cut throbbing on my arm, I try to concentrate on the score in front of me and the notes flowing from my instrument, but a small part of my mind is fixated on Eren.  After a few hours, I decide to take a smoke break.  Hopefully that will calm me and allow me to focus on playing.

By the time rehearsal time rolls around- two cigarettes later- I'm calmer and am able to focus much better.  But as soon as I step into that hall and see Eren sitting with the flutes, chatting animatedly with the black haired section leader, all that calm goes right out the window.  I can feel my whole body grow tense again, worrying over my affections for a kid that will never return them.

That thought races through my mind and does a lot to bring my focus back to where it needs to be.  There is no way Eren will ever feel the same way about me as I do about him.  I'm nearly ten years his senior, and I'm a depressed, unapproachable man.  What could he possibly see in me?  Nothing.  So why should I spend so much of my time worrying over the kid and these confusing feelings that threaten to overwhelm me?  It would be best if I just left it alone, if I let these feelings fade away.  It would be  best for both him and myself.  He deserves better than getting dragged down to my pathetic level.  He has his whole life ahead of him, and mine ended before it ever really had the chance to begin.

The entire rehearsal passes without a single thought of Eren distracting me.  I manage to get a lot done with my section, and when we all meet back up in the concert hall to practice as an orchestra, I don't once feel the desire to look over at Eren seated in the section beside mine.  I feel almost... numb.  But numb is good.  When you're numb, you don't feel pain.  When you're numb, it makes it so much easier to tune out this cruel world and the shit you are forced to live through.  When I'm numb, these confusing feelings regarding Eren no longer bother me.

I don't even consider how I'm going to get through tonight's one-on-one practice with him until rehearsal ends and Eren stops me on my way out of the concert hall.

"We're going out for sandwiches again tonight if you want to come," he tells me.  "I know you didn't want to go last night, but I thought I'd ask again anyway."

"I'm not hungry," I tell him, giving him the same excuse I did last night as I brush past him.  "Don't be late."

Eren is two minutes late when he returns from dinner.  He's breathing heavily, as if he ran all the way back here, even thought the deli is just down the street.

"I'm sorry," he pants.  "I was catching up with the guys and I lost-"

"I don't care.  Sit down and get your instrument out," I interrupt him, not even looking up from the score I had been practicing.

Eren hesitates, most likely stunned by my harshness, but I keep my eyes glued to the score and keep my bow moving across the strings so I can't say for sure.  He better get used to it though.  This is who I really am when I'm not dancing around a young man I'm inexplicably infatuated with.

Eren sits and begins to prepare his instrument.  I take that moment to flick my eyes briefly up to his face.  If he is upset with my tone, he doesn't show it.  He's chipper as always as he takes out his well loved violin and starts tuning the strings.  What angers me is that I am relieved to see that he's not upset with me.  I shouldn't give a shit about what the boy thinks, or how he feels about me and my poor social interaction skills.  I shouldn't give a shit about him.  I had been doing so well all day, but now I feel myself slipping again.  I dig down deep for that numbness, wishing it back to the forefront.  I remind myself of my revelation earlier this afternoon, and it doesn't take long for that numbness to envelope me again.

This numbness gets me through the lesson, and all the way through rehearsal the next day.  Maybe this won't be as hard as I had previously assumed.  Pushing the boy away.  Maybe I will be able to do it after all.  Maybe these next two and a half weeks will go by without a single problem and I'll be able to leave him behind forever, never to see those stunning green eyes again.

The thought upsets me, but at the same time, it will be a relief to have Isabel's eyes no longer haunting me every time I'm with Eren.  Perhaps that's the only reason I'm so infatuated with Eren.  It has to be.  It's because his eyes are Isabel's eyes, and I miss her so much.  I've wished for well over a decade for her to come back to me, to have her at my side once again.  Eren's eyes are just like hers, so perhaps that's why I've become so attached to him.  It's my longing to have Isabel back with me again.  I'm not really intrigued with Eren, just his eyes.  Once I'm gone from Shiganshina, with Eren and his eyes long behind me, hopefully the feelings will go away completely.

The numbness has almost entirely engulfed me by the time rehearsal ends and my lesson with Eren starts, which is a good thing.  I'll need it to get through this session.  I'll need it to get through every session most likely.

"Levi, you're bleeding."

That numbness that was so strong just moments ago shatters.  With those three simple words from Eren, my anxiety explodes to the surface.  My eyes shoot down immediately to my left arm, and a fleeting thought in the back of my mind hopes that Eren didn't see that.  Sure enough, a thick spot of red is starting to bleed through the sleeve of my grey button down.  The gauze must've come loose.

Eren reaches for my sleeve to pull it back and try to find where the blood is coming from, but I pull my arm back and quickly stand, nearly knocking my chair to the ground.

"I'll be right back.  Keep practicing," I say in a rush as I head for the door.

My mind is racing as I quickly make my way down the hall towards the bathroom.  Luckily, it's been over an hour since rehearsal ended and the hall is nearly abandoned.  What do I tell Eren when I return?  What excuse do I think up?  What other reasons are there to be bleeding from the inside of my wrist?  Maybe if I just brush it aside, play it off as no big deal, he won't worry about it or ask too many questions.  As I enter the bathroom and push into a stall, I decide that that's what I'll do.  It won't be that hard.  If I don't make a big deal about this, then Eren won't.  Hopefully.

I quickly adjust the bandages, tying them tighter around my wrist.  The cuts aren't even bleeding a lot, the gauze just slipped.  Once that's taken care of, I leave the stall and head to the sinks to try and clean up the blood on my sleeve a little.  There's not much I can do, and my hands are still shaking a little from Eren nearly discovering my secret.  I can't believe I let myself get so careless.  I should've checked the bandages before our lesson like I usually do.  I can't be that careless again.  Although the numbness was nice, it's making me forgetful, and that'll do more harm than good.

With my sleeve cleaned up as well as I'll be able to manage in a bathroom- which isn't good at all- I make my way back to the practice room where Eren is sitting, waiting for me to return, possibly with an explanation.  I take my time walking down the hall.  I've already decided that I'm just not going to say anything when I reenter the room, but my heart still races, hoping that he won't ask questions.

Eren is sitting just where I left him.  He had been playing before I opened the door, but now he's lowering his instrument and looking up at me with slight concern in those damned eyes of his.  I don't pay him any mind as I take my seat, picking up my precious violin and raising it to my shoulder.

"Alright, where were we?  Measure... twenty-eight?" I ask him.

He frowns, and looks like he's about to ask a question, but thinks better of it and nods, lifting the instrument to his shoulder.  I let myself relax a little, mentally sighing at how narrowly I managed to dodge that bullet.  Neither of us talk for the rest of the lesson, which as it turns out isn't much time at all thankfully.  When we finish, the silence continues as we pack up our instruments.  Eren breaks it with a muttered 'see you next week' and opens the door.

He pauses though, standing half in and half out of the room.  He's looking out in front of him, down the deserted corridor, but he half turns to face me and that concerned look is back.

"Are you okay, Levi?"

They're four very simple words, none of them holding much significance by themselves, but strung together in that order, they hold such an incredible weight, and such a great power.  I can feel something crack inside me.  How is it that it is so easy to hold your composition until someone asks you that one simple question that really isn't that simple at all?

I want to tell him everything.  I can't even begin to fathom why suddenly, a part of my fucked up mind thinks it's okay to spill my multitude of baggage onto this kid whom I've only known for a few days, but it takes a tremendous effort to hold the words back, to keep my lips sealed.  And it takes an even greater effort not to look up at him and meet those stunning eyes.  Because I know that if I do, it will mean the end for me.

So I stare straight at my music stand, where I had paused in closing my music folder, and grit my teeth to help regain complete control.  Only once I've accomplished that do I feel that it's okay to speak, to answer that damned question.

"Yes.  I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him, my tone a clear dismissal.

Thankfully Eren picks up on my tone and leaves.  Once I'm alone, I allow myself to slump back into my chair and release the breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding.  I dry wash my face with my hands and my mind starts to catch up with itself.  I'm mortified that my secret had been right on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill over and become vocalized words.  That was way too close for comfort, as was the incident with the blood on my sleeve.  God, I'm a fucking train heading straight for a blown track dangling over a bottomless abyss.  The inevitable train wreck is coming and I'm starting to fear that my breaks aren't working.  I need to do something about this issue and soon. 

The only idea I can think of, despite an entire sleepless night of thinking, is to avoid the kid, like I told myself I needed to do from the very beginning.  But this time, I manage to actually to do it as we both go out our day.  I don't say a single word to him, barely even look at him, and this time I don't even need to be numb to do it.  Today is Friday, and on Fridays there is no section practice.  We use the entire eight hours to rehearse as an orchestra with Erwin conducting.  It's hard not to steal glances over at the boy, but I keep convincing myself that it'll be for my own good, as well as his.  He doesn't need to get pulled into my mess of a life.  Not only will it be good for me, but it'll also be good for him not to get close to me.  That's what I tell myself over and over and over again.

Last night I also allowed the thought that Eren is starting to get suspicious poison my mind.  The way he looked at me last night after he noticed I was bleeding, and when I had returned to the practice room, showed so much concern.  And the way he stopped to ask if I was okay, the tone he used, it felt like so much deeper of a question that what it seemed on the surface.  My paranoid mind has me worrying that Eren suspects that there is something wrong with me, that there is something I am hiding from him.  And of course there is, but I don't want him to know that.  If he suspects, then he may think about it more than he should, and it could lead to him prying and discovering my secret, which can't happen.  He can't know.  No one can.  I need to suffer on my own, without dragging someone as innocent and young and ignorant as Eren into my mess.

This fear of suspicion also aids me in avoiding the kid all day.  I can sense his glances in my direction all throughout rehearsal, but I ignore them.  I don't return a single one.  And after a long eight hours, Erwin releases us and I hurry to pack up my instrument and leave before Eren is packed up.  On my way out of the hall, walking past his section, I don't even pause my steps to tell him, "The lesson is canceled tonight."

He stutters out a few syllables, most likely trying to find the words to ask why I was cancelling the lesson, but he doesn't manage to form the sentence before I'm already past his section and leaving the hall.  That's it, that's all the contact I have with him all day, and now it's the weekend, and I'll have two full days alone to think of a better way to handle this situation that is quickly spinning out of my control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://titaneren-jaeger.tumblr.com/) and I track the tag ["fic: cidm"](http://titaneren-jaeger.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-cidm/). Under this tag I'll be posting updates as they occur, like I did for the last chapter. Thank you guys for your patience!


	7. A Change of Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out from under rock with new chapter*
> 
> I feel so bad guys. Has it really been almost 4 months since I last updated this?? I'm so sorry orz
> 
> But here's the next chapter. And tbh it's up now as opposed to later because I just finished watching Your Lie in April and it really kicked my butt into gear to write this. If you haven't seen it, you should. Very emotional with a very bitter-sweet ending, but the music in it is absolutely phenomenal. It totally inspired this chapter. Anyways enjoy. And hopefully it won't be so long before I get the next chapter up.

The weekend serves as a great reset for anxious mind.  I don't leave my hotel the entire weekend, opting instead to practice in my room.  There's a chance that I could run into Eren at the concert hall and I'm not willing to take that risk.  I need the weekend to myself, away from him and away from the confusion that comes with being anywhere near him.  I need to take a step back, breathe, gather my wits back about me, to clear my head.  But when have I ever had any control over my wits? Or anything else for that matter?

The music helps, as it always does, but for some reason I feel like it isn't helping as much as it usually does.  Usually I can get totally lost in the music.  My entire mind will go blank, and only the music fills it.  All my problems flow from my mind, carried away by the notes as leaves get blown away by the wind.  But I guess these problems haven't fallen from the tree yet.  They hold fast and don't quite leave as the hum of my violin fills the hotel room.  This is more serious than I thought.  And I knew it was serious.  From the very beginning I knew this would be serious.  Very serious.  But what should I do about it?  Everything I've tried so far hasn't worked.  As much as I would like to believe that ignoring the brat and pushing him away could work, I'm not stupid enough to think that it has made any difference thus far.  So maybe I should try something different.  But what?

The music cuts off with a rather unpleasant screech of strings as I let my bow drop from my violin.  The instrument follows, hanging loosely in my grasp by my leg.  I stare out the window into the still night as my thoughts take a very drastic, completely one-eighty turn.  Everything I've done up until this point hasn't even come close to being effective.  I know that.  I'm not stupid.  But why am I trying this hard?  Would it really be that terrible if I were to let one person in?  I don't even have to let him all the way in.  What if I just let him in part of the way?  I can allow myself this one bit of human companionship, can't I?  I'm only around for two more weeks.  I'll let myself indulge just this little bit, but not enough to become completely attached, then I'll leave and this whole mess will be behind me.

Could it really be that simple?  This feeling in my chest is so strange to me, so new.  I don't know what it'll do to me if I give it some leeway.  Will it take off like a dog let off its leash?  Or will it cling to me like a child afraid of the dark?  What will happen if I allow this small amount of self-indulgence?  I'm half afraid that it'll go horribly wrong and destroy me all over again.  But the other half of me is near bursting with anticipation, eagerness... excitement.  The emotions... these feelings... they're so strange.  I don't remember the last time I felt any of them.  I've buried them for so long.  But maybe it's time they be let out.  After all, what am I afraid of?  That they'll hurt me?  I've been hurt so much in this life already, I don't think a little more will do much now.

With a smile threatening to pull at the corner of my lips, I raise my violin back up to my chin and poise the bow above the strings.  I stare into the darkness of the night and after a deep breath, close my eyes and picture bight greenish-blue.  I let the pounding of my heart, the rush of adrenaline, and the color of the ocean drive my arm forward, the bow sliding across the strings to fill the hotel room with music.  I drop my wrist back down, my fingers flicking across the strings.  Chord after chord, note after note, I let the music grow and form and overwhelm my ears, my entire being.  I can feel it vibrating up my fingers, through my wrist and down my arm.

I practice well into the night before finally calling it quits.  Actually feeling tired for once in my life, I tuck away my instrument and climb into bed.  Surprisingly enough, it only takes minutes for me to fall asleep.  But I should've known that one small release of my vice grip on my emotions wasn't going to suddenly solve my insomnia.  Or result in the end of my nightmares.

I start awake, a cry on my lips, as I watch for the thousandth time the fiery wreck that tore everyone I ever cared about away from me.  I can't breathe for a long minute as I sit there in bed, staring wide-eyed at the wall, my body coated in a cold sweat.  Once I'm finally able to suck oxygen back into my struggling lungs, I slump over, burying my face in my hands.  I take a series of deep breathes, trying to calm my racing heart, then dare to glance over at the clock. It's just before six in the morning.  About three hours of sleep.  Perfect.

Climbing out of bed, I hurry to take a shower in order to wash away all the sweat and anxiety.  With that taken care of, I grab my instrument and backpack and leave for the concert hall.  It's Monday today.  The weekend is over.  No avoiding that brat anymore.  It's time to see if letting these emotions out of the cage was as big of a mistake as I fear it will be.

The concert hall is empty when I arrive, as it usually is.  I have to say, that is one thing I like about working with a bunch of kids.  It gives me the entire hall to myself in the mornings while everyone else is at school.  Actually, strike that.  As I walk down the hall, I can hear the faint tune of a piano echoing down the halls.  Someone is obviously already here.  On impulse, I continue down the hall and passed my usual practice room.  I quickly discover that the music is coming from the concert hall.  Continuing down the curving hallway, I stop at the backstage door, then slowly and quietly push it open so as to not disturb the pianist.

I recognize the song.  It's Kreisler's Liebesleid.  It's originally written to be a violin and piano duet.  But the pianist, incredibly, is playing both parts.  I don't even hesitate before setting my violin down on the chair next to the door and pulling out my instrument.  I know this piece by heart.  The pianist must not have heard me come in, because the music flows uninterrupted as I ready my instrument.  I start to walk out onto the stage as I lift my violin to my shoulder.  As soon as he comes to the next measure, I jump in, the sound of my violin mixing with the music of his piano as I continue onto the stage.

It's Mike, I soon see, sitting at the piano.  I had forgotten that the pianist wasn't a college student, and was closer to mine and Erwin's age.  He falters slightly at the sound of my violin and looks up.  But it only takes him a single beat to catch his rhythm again and to continue the piece, this time without playing the violin part.

I close my eyes as the music fills the empty hall.  I focus on the instrument beneath my fingers, the smoothness of the wooden bow, the taunt vibrations of the strings.  I can hear that Mike is playing with more gusto as well, now that he has a partner.  I pour everything I have into the song, my brow furrowing as I let the sorrow of Love's Sorrow overwhelm me.  The feeling and emotion of the piece envelops me, and I move to the music, playing as if every seat in the empty concert hall was filled.  It's the only way to play a violin really.  Especially when the piece is full of so much emotion.  It needs to be felt by everyone, not just by the person playing the piece.

Half way through the piece though, I realize I'm not playing for my imaginary audience.  No, what I'm seeing on the backs of my eyelids is green.  I see a smile, a bright smile up against tan skin.  I see long fingers playing over worn strings on a dinged but loved violin.  I see a greenish-blue so full of life and spirit that it has the power to put me on my knees.  I'm not playing for an empty hall.  I'm playing for Eren.

When the song draws to an end, the last few notes of the violin and piano fading into nothing, only then do I open my eyes.  I almost feel melancholy over the fact that the piece is over.  I could play the piece forever, seeing Eren in my mind, and it wouldn't be long enough.  Lowering my bow, I glance over to my impromptu partner.

"I apologize for barging in on your practicing," I tell him.  "Liebesleid is one of my favorites."

The quiet pianist smiles.  "It was no problem.  I prefer to play that piece with a violinist anyway.  Usually it's Eren that accompanies me, though."

At the name my eyes widen a little.  "Eren does?"

"Yeah, he really likes that song.  I guess his mother used to play it all the time when he was little," Mike says with a shrug.  Then, after a moment of heavy silence he asks, "Do you know Beethoven's Kreutzer?"

I nod my head slightly.  "Any violinist worth his salt knows the Kreutzer.  I don't think I can recall more than just the first movement from memory though."

"Perfect," Mike smiles.  "The first movement is my favorite anyway."

Again, I nod, and lift the violin to my chin.  It's been a while since I've played the Kreutzer.  But despite it being known for being demanding on violinists, I don't doubt my ability to play the first movement from memory.  And with Mike carrying the piano piece, that should help keep me on track.  I watch him as he flips through his rather large book of sheet music, then settles the right piece in front of him.  When he nods, I take a deep breath and strike up the opening notes of the piece.

I close my eyes again as the opening measures ring out through the hall.  After the first couple measures, Mike joins in with the piano.  The sounds of the piano mix with that of my violin and together they combine to make truly beautiful music.  I've always been a fan of the sound a piano and a violin make together.  I personally feel that they complement each other so beautifully.

I watch him move to the music we're creating, ducking his head and swaying his body as his fingers move across the keys.  He's not the only one getting lost in the music.  I move as well, following the lead of music, as if it were a dance.  I let my eyes drift closed again and I concentrate on the music reverberating all around us.  I feel it with every fiber of my being.  I let the music consume me, as I always do.  I let it take over, moving my fingers and wrist and body as it demands.

All too soon the piece draws to an end, and I furrow my brow in concentration at the last few measures.  Our last few notes ring out hard and loud, then cut off sharply.  I take a deep breath, my eyes still closed with my bow poised in the air above my violin.  I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead.

An excited applause has me snapping my eyes open and I look into the empty hall to see Eren standing behind the back row of seats, his eyes wide and a grin on his face.  My heart jumps up into my throat at just the sight of him.  My first instinct is to hurry off stage, but I remind myself of my decision made last night, and keep my feet rooted where they are as Eren jogs up to the stage and leans his arms on the smooth wood, staring up at us in awe.

"That was incredible!" he says.  "That was Beethoven's, uh... his violin sonata right?  His Kreutzer?"

I just nod, not really sure what else to say.  My feet stay planted, despite wanting to walk up to the edge of the stage and crouch in front of him.

"That piece is supposed to be really challenging.  You can play it from memory?"  His voice is still full of awe and that does funny things to my chest and fingertips.

"Only the first movement," I tell him, then before he can continue to gush about my playing and make me even more uncomfortable about the praise, I change the topic.  "Why aren't you at school?"

"I don't have class until ten on Mondays.  And tomorrow I have a Symphonic Band recital so I decided to come here before class and practice.  I have a solo," he tells me with a smug grin, obviously proud of himself.

"Do you need any help with it?" I find myself asking.  I hadn't been able to stop it.  It just came out.  But there's no taking it back now, especially seeing as Eren obviously heard it, judging by the way his eyes widen in surprise.

"Uhm, actually, there is this one part....  Most of the time I play it, I'm fine, but sometimes my fingers trip over the notes and I'm afraid it'll happen tomorrow during the recital.  And wouldn't _that_ be embarrassing.  I think Dr. Shadis would drag me out back and skin me alive," he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.  "I don't want to bother you though.  I know that this is your time to do your own practicing before rehearsal."

"It's fine," I reassure him.  "I don't mind."

His smile is blinding.  "Okay!  Thank you," he says, turning and running down the aisle to the back door.  "I have to go get my instrument!  I'll be in the usual practice room in fifteen!"  Then he's gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

I stand there in surprise for a moment, then turn to leave the stage.  I catch Mike smiling as he flips through some more scores in his big book.  Deciding not to ask what that's all about, and trying not to wonder too much about it, I grab my case and backpack from where I left them when I had joined Mike and leave the hall.  I reach the practice room and set up all my things before deciding to go to the restroom in order to prepare, just in case Eren comes back before he said he would.

I enter the bathroom and pick the stall at the end.  Thankfully it's too early for anyone else to be at the hall, and the bathroom is empty.  I close the toilet lid and sit down, pulling out my small box, towel, and rubber bands.  But when I roll up my sleeve, I hesitate, looking down at the numerous wounds lining my arm.  With a start, I realize that the most recent one is starting to heal.  I frantically go back over the events of this morning and last night in my head.

I didn't have to cut this morning before being able to play two very complicated, and very emotional pieces with Mike.  And last night, I didn't have to aggravate the wound before picking back up after dinner.  When I desperately try to think of the reason for that, I come to the startling realization that, perhaps it has something to do with my decision to let Eren in.  Last night, I had pictured his bright eyes while I played.  And this morning, I imagined I was playing for him.  That can't possibly be the reason, but what other reason is there?  Somehow, that kid has managed to make a bigger impact on my life than I ever even dreamed could be possible.


	8. Antics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you were happy that Levi had stopped cutting. But unfortunately, it's not that easy. Our poor baby still has a long way to go.

I stare at the cuts for a moment longer, desperately trying to figure out how this change happened, and how it could possibly be connected to Eren.  But I don't have all day to sit here and think about it.  With a frown, I open the small box and pull out a razor.  It gleams eerily in the florescence of the bathroom, but I don't let it bother me as I draw the blade against a scarred section of my forearm.  The flesh tears and crimson colors my arm, dripping onto the towel placed on my knee.  I watch the blood soak into the towel for a moment longer, staring at the lines it makes down my arm.

This is what makes sense.  This isn't confusing to me.  This is normal.  This is necessary.  Whatever Eren might be doing to me, that's not normal, and it doesn't make sense.  I need the pain to play.  I don't know what it is Eren is giving me, but it can't replace the pain.  It's not enough.  I need the anguish and sorrow.  I need tragedy to fuel my will to play.  It's what I know.  This thing with Eren is strange and confusing.  I don't know what to make of it, or what to do with it, so I need to stick to what I _do_ know.  It's as simple as that.

If it's that simple then why does the crimson look so out of place?

Before the thought can make me question myself any more, I hurriedly press the towel to my arm, soaking up the flow.  After a long couple of minutes of staring at the cloth and trying not to think, I pull it away and replace it with the gauze.  I kept this cut shallow, so I shouldn't have to keep the towel there to soak up the blood.  The gauze should suffice.

I clean up and pack everything away, then head back down the hall to the practice room.  When I enter, it's still empty, which means I beat Eren.  I take my seat and pick up my violin.  With the melody of Liebesleid still drifting through my head, I put the bow to the strings and pick it up from the beginning.  I focus on the pain radiating through my arm, boring a hole through the empty stand in front of me with my eyes.  I see the crash from my dreams last night play through my head, brought to painful clarity by the cut on my arm.

But as I play, the song sounds so different than it did when I played it earlier with Mike.  I could chalk it up to being by myself and not having a piano accompany me, but I know it's not true.  It's not the sound of the music that is different, it's the emotions carried by it.  This time it's deep and painful and hurt.  Before, the sorrow floating along on the notes was a lighter pain.  It was a pain filled with longing, with desire, with... with hope.  It was a beautiful sorrow.  Now it's a pitiful sorrow.  I can practically hear the death, the hopelessness, the despair.  And despite it sounding this way coming from my violin for nearly my whole life, it sounds so foreign, so strange, so _wrong_.  Why doesn't it sound the way it did earlier with Mike?  Why is it so upsetting now?

The door open and Eren enters slowly, wide eyed, his violin hugged to his chest.  "That's Liebesleid.  Love's Sorrow," he whispers when I stop playing to look up at him.  "That was my mom's favorite song.  She used to play it all the time.  On this very violin, as a matter of fact."

Well that would explain why the instrument is so worn.  It's old.  It was his mother's before it was his?  It 'was' his mom's favorite song.  She 'used to' play it all the time.  I know what these past tenses mean.  I would know better than anyone.  But I don't bring it up. If he's anything like me then he's not likely to appreciate questions asked about dead loved ones.

"Mike and I played it before we played the Kreutzer," I tell him.  "He did mention that he plays it with you sometimes."

"Yeah he helped me learn it," he tells me, then chuckles at my raised eyebrow.  "He's no violinist, but he knew the song well.  He knew how the violin part was supposed to sound.  And it helped when he accompanied with the piano."

I nod, looking away from him and towards the sheet music he had placed on the stand when he took a seat beside me.  If I keep looking at him I'm going to get lost in those eyes.

"Hey Levi?" he says, his voice a little soft.  If I didn't know him, I'd say it sounded unsure.  He doesn't continue until I look back up at him.  "Do you think we could play a duet some day, like you did with Mike today?  Maybe even Love's Sorrow?"

I stare at him for a long moment, a little surprised by his request.  Not only about the request to play a duet with me, but his choice of songs.  That's a love ballad.  And he wants to play it with me.  He starts to look disappointed, even a little embarrassed, probably taking my silence as a 'no'.

"Sure," I manage to respond, if only just to rid his face of that look.  "I don't think there is a version of Liebesleid for two violins, but if you can find an acceptable sheet for a violin duet then I'll play it with you."

His features light up immediately and he flashes me a blinding smile.  "Thanks Levi!"

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, trying not to get trapped by that look.  "Don't you have a piece you need help with?  I don't have all morning, and neither do you."

"Oh, right!" he says, but that excited look doesn't leave his eyes as he riffles through his sheet music and pulls out the particular piece.  "It's right... here.  I always trip over these notes leading into this measure."

I work with Eren for about an hour.  He plays it fine the first time when I ask him to play it for me.  But I can tell by the furrow of his brow that he has to focus really hard on the progression in order to play it correctly.  He shouldn't have to bore his gaze into the piece like that.  It should flow smoothly from one measure to the next, then through the measure and into the one after.  I give him the best advice I can think of, and play it for him a few times to show him how to slide his fingers from one note to the next.  By the end of the hour, he manages to play it through much easier and without having to tense up so much.

"Wow I feel a lot better about this now," he sighs as he packs up his violin.

"You look a lot better while playing it," I point out.  "Don't tense up so much.  I'm realizing that it's a habit for you."

He sighs.  "Yeah, I guess it is.  I guess I'll have to find a way to relax, huh?" he says with a wink in my direction that causes my heart to stutter to a halt.  What is that supposed to mean?  What is he trying to suggest?  _Nothing, you idiot_ , my mind immediately throws at me.  But I can't help but wonder.  "Thanks Levi, and sorry for taking up so much of your time."

"Don't mention it..." I murmur, a simple knee-jerk reaction, considering my mind is still reeling from his words.  And that wink.

He's about to leave, but then halts in the doorway, turning back to regard me.  "Uhm, will we still have practice tonight after rehearsal?" he asks.  I just nod, and he flashes me another smile.  "Awesome.  Thanks again Levi!  You're the best!" he says as he leaves the room.

That last statement does something weird to my insides.  It's not like the normal compliments I get from fans or fellow musicians about the level of my skills.  It had nothing to do with my ability to play a violin.  It was something entirely different.  He said that because of what I did for him, as a person.  He was referring to the fact that I helped him, and I will be helping him again in the future.  It was a sentiment reflecting his gratitude towards me.  And I can't remember the last time such an honest sentiment was made about me.  This weird feeling in my chest....  Warmth?

The kind words carry me through the rest of the morning and into the rehearsal.  When I enter the concert hall, my eyes are immediately scanning for Eren.  His chair is empty, and there is no sign of his instrument or music laying around, so he must not have arrived yet.  As I pass the grand piano, Mike offers me a smile and I nod my head to him.  I like Mike.  He's quiet and kept to himself, a very good pianist, and enjoys a spur-of-the-moment duet.

As I approach my seat, a girl stands from hers and intercepts me.  She's one of my first violins.  Mina, I think her name is.  She asks me to help her with a section of the music.  She plays the measure, and I quickly locate and point out her problem.  I give her advice on how to fix it, briefly showing her on my own violin.  She thanks me with a smile and I simply nod.

Just as I straighten from my crouch by her chair, Eren enters the concert hall.  I nearly trip over my own chair due to the entirety of my focus being on him.  But once I safely take my seat, I look back up to see him sneaking between chairs towards the cello section.  His eyes are intently glued to where the cello section leader, Armin, is sitting a few chairs over in the flute section with Mikasa, trying to play her flute while Mikasa laughs.  Eren sneaks up to Armin's chair and eases his bow off of his stand, then backs away, a huge smirk on his face.

I watch with wide eyes as he hurries over to the brass section and passes the bow off to the brass section leader, Connie.  Connie is giggling as he takes the bow and props it up behind his chair.  Well fuck, I really do work with a bunch of brats.  Eren continues nonchalantly over to his chair and sets his violin case in his lap, popping the lid open.  When he looks up, our eyes connect and he seems surprised to catch me watching him.  Before I can avert my eyes, he winks at me and holds a long finger up to his lips, shushing me.  My eyes are still wide, but I manage a nod, and a smile even threatens to pull at my lips.

A sudden, shouted, "Hey- Goddamnit Eren!" rips through our little, almost-there moment and I look over to see Armin glaring at Eren from his seat where he, presumably, had been looking for his bow.  Eren tries to keep his face neutral when he looks up, but only succeeds for about half a second before a smirk splits his lips and he snickers, trying to cover it with a hand.  My glance over at an unsuspected Connie reveals that he's only barely managing to hold a straight face as he stares intently at his sheet music.

Armin storms over to Eren, demanding he give his bow back.  Of course Eren denies having it, but that doesn't deter Armin as he quickly snags Eren's bow from his own stand.  Eren jumps up to try and grab it back, but Armin holds the bow behind him while holding Eren back with a hand to his face.  Eren grabs at Armin's arms and tries to wrestle Armin off so he can grab his bow.  I can't stop the jealous feeling at how casually the two are touching and playing with each other.  How long has it been since I've been that casual with a friend?  Not since Sina Institute.  Not since my friends were all taken from me.

Surprisingly though, the negative thought doesn't stop me from enjoying their wrestling and banter.  A snort of amusement even escapes me at the comic imagery of little Armin holding off tall, lanky Eren.

"C'mon Armin I don't even have your bow!" Eren pleads, making another grab for his bow.

"I know you took it!  Give it back!" Armin demands.

"I don't have it!" Eren whines.

"Don't you lie to me Jaeger," Armin returns.  "And you should know by now those puppy eyes won't work on me."

"Armiiiin!"

"Where'd you put it?"

"Give it back and I'll tell you!"

"So help me, I _will_ play my cello with your bow."

"I don't-"

"Everyone take your seats," Erwin's voice suddenly cuts through the banter.

Everyone quiets down and hurries to get to their seats and Connie pulls Armin's bow out from behind his seat.  Armin hands Eren back his bow with a pout and heads to go get his own bow from Connie, but not before giving Eren a flick to the forehead.  Eren has a shit-eating grin on his face, rubbing at his forehead as Armin takes his seat across the podium from him.  Armin sticks his tongue out at Eren and Eren returns it with crossed eyes.

"Levi, if you would?"

Erwin's voice snaps me out of my staring and I quickly remember where I am and what I should be doing right now.  I nod and stand from my seat, steeling my expression back into its normal, blank mask.  Lifting my violin to my chin, I drag my bow across the strings, holding the tuning note long and loud for the rest of the orchestra to hear.

My mind is still caught up on how young and lively Eren and his friends are.  Well, most of the orchestra for that matter.  I try to think back on my own youth- something I usually desperately avoid- to think if I was ever energetic like that.  I know Isabel was, and it suddenly shocks me how much her and Eren are alike, even down to their glowing greenish-blue eyes.  I remember how she used to put pieces of paper in between the piano strings and the hammers on Farlan's piano, hide my violin bow, draw smiley faces into all the half and whole notes on our sheet music, and other such antics.

For once, thoughts of Isabel and Farlan have me smiling as I continue to play the tuning note.  These pleasant thoughts and feelings stay with me for the rest of the rehearsal.  By the time the rehearsal comes to an end and it's time for me to meet with Eren for our lesson, I'm still feeling pretty good, which in all honesty is a pretty foreign feeling for me.

I still have to irritate my wound on my wrist though while Eren is out getting dinner with his friends.  It's an itch that I can't just ignore.  The dulling pain sparks something in me when I sit down in the small practice room all by myself.  It's an instinctual urge.  It's an addiction.  And I need to placate it.  So I roll up my sleeve, peel back the gauze, drag my nail across the torn flesh, and I watch as a new wave of crimson ebbs to the surface, and I appease the monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dire need for shiganshina trio tomfoolery.
> 
> So I rushed to upload this chapter when I had been planning on updating tomorrow because my computer just broke. It was the housing, so it's not like it crashed and I lost anything (pheww) but I still have to take it in tomorrow and idk when I'm getting it back. I'm also leaving for Canada on Monday, so no updates next weekend. But I do have the next chapter done already (I know right??) so there will be an update in two weeks.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://titaneren-jaeger.tumblr.com/) so hit me up with questions/feedback/headcanons/theories/or anything at all really. I ain't picky. I'm also tracking the tag "fic: cidm" as you all pretty well know by now


	9. Followed Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter today for my precious baby Eren’s birthday! It is rather fitting too, very centered around Eren and his performance at the recital. So enjoy!
> 
> Also, [this is the piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dM4QQo6SoWU) he plays for his solo at the end if you want to listen to it.

"In a great misappropriation of my time and a well placed lie to my conducting professor, I hunted through the school's musical library during my entire conducting class and I couldn't find _anything_ ," Eren tells me as he enters the small practice room, dropping down heavily in his seat.  "I think you're right that a violin duet for Liebesleid doesn't exist."

I look up at his disappointed face, and although I anticipated this result, his disappointment must be contagious.  I take a deep inhale of my cigarette and let the smoke flow slowly from my lips.  "I didn't think it did.  I've never encountered anything like that, and I've come across a lot of pieces in my days."

An upset look still mars his face as he sets his sheet music down on the stand and starts to prepare his instrument.  I struggle to find something to say to him.  My lack of human relationships over the last decade and a half is putting me at a real disadvantage here.  I end up blurting the first thing that comes to mind, even though I'm not quite sure if it's the right thing to say or not.

"Is there another piece you'd be interested in trying?" I ask.

"I was really looking forward to Liebesleid," he says.  "It's one of my favorites.  Don't worry about it, we don't have to bother with a duet.  I'm sure you have better things to work on anyway."

I want to argue with that statement, to reassure him that if it's what he wanted, that I'd gladly work on a duet piece with him.  But the right words don't come to me and Eren manages to change the subject, effectively derailing that conversation.

"Anyways, I really need to work on this piece.  I need to have it perfect for the recital tomorrow morning.  And the stupid thing starts at nine, so unless I get up super early to practice before my first class, this is my last chance to practice."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," I reassure him.  Of course _now_ my words come easily.  "You have the solo almost perfect.  Even that measure you were having a hard time with, you really squared it away this morning.  As long as you don't panic, you should be able to play the part easily."

"Yeah it's the 'not panicking' part that's going to be the problem," he tells me.  "When I'm in an orchestra and surrounded by other musicians all playing, when my own tune can't be heard above the rest, I'm perfectly okay.  But as soon as I have any sort of solo, no matter how short or minor or simple, my heart goes into overdrive.  It's hard to focus and play the part."

"Well if you want to be concertmaster, you're going to have to learn to get over that fear," I warn him, taking another long drag from the cigarette.  "You don't seem to have any problems playing in front of me."

"Oh trust me, the first lesson or two I nearly shit my pants playing in front of you," he admits with a tinge of embarrassment.  "I got used to it though, because, well, you're just one person.  I mean, I'm not saying that you're just _any_ person, you are _the_ Levi Ackerman and sometimes that’s fucking terrifying.  But playing in front of one person is different than playing in front of an entire concert hall of people."

A smirk of amusement is pulling at my lips over his flustered words as he tries not to offend me.  There was no offense to his words though, so I don't know why he's scrambling to cover them up.  He seems almost surprised by my smile, but then a smile of his own spreads across his face.

"You know what I mean," he chuckles.

"Yes, I do.  But let me give you a little advice," I say, pulling the stick from my mouth and leaning towards him as if I were about to share a trade secret with him.  He leans forward too, his eyes wide as if he's about to commit my every word to memory.  "When you're out on that stage playing your violin, whether it's mixed in with an entire orchestra, or standing up on an empty stage all by yourself, you need to remember that you're playing that violin for _you_.  There's a reason why you picked up that instrument and decided to learn how to play it.  _That_ is why you're playing, that is what you're playing for.  Nobody nor anything else matter.  Play it for yourself, or imagine that the one person you really want to hear it is there, and that you're playing for them.  Ignore the audience, because they don't matter."

His eyes are wide, as if I just told him the meaning to life.  He nods slowly, still letting my advice sink in.

"Play it for you, and you'll do just fine, I promise," I enforce, a small smile pulling at my lips as he excitedly, eyes still wide in awe, picks up his violin to try it again.

...

The next morning I wake up a little later than normal, rolling out of bed at just before seven.  But, I didn't manage to get to sleep until well after three, so I guess it all evens out.  After I finish getting ready for the morning, my violin in hand, I pause with my hand on the door handle.  It's a crazy thought, and an even crazier decision to actually go through with it, but I fish the phone book out of one of the desk draws and flip it open.  I rack my brain for the name of the school Eren attends.  I know Erwin told me it when I first got here last week.  What was it again?

I scan through the short list of universities in and around Shiganshina and my eyes fall on it.  Ah, yes, that's right.  Shiganshina Academy of the Arts.  I grab the pad and pen from on top of the desk and quickly scrawl the address across the first sheet, then rip it off and shove it in my pocket.  With all the information I need gathered, I leave the hotel and begin my short walk to the concert hall.  It's still much too early to leave, so I'll get some practicing done in the meantime.  I just hope it's not enough time for me to chicken out and change my mind.

After about an hour and a half, I pack up my things and leave the practice room.  Out in front of the hall, I hail a cab and read off the address scribbled on the scrap of paper that sits heavily in my pocket.  I sit nervously in the backseat, fiddling with the handle of my violin case.  I'm not sure what drove me to go to Eren's recital at school.  Maybe because I helped him with his solo, and I want to see how it goes?  Maybe I want to see if my advice actually works for him, if I was actually able to be of some use?  Yeah, that must be the reason, I decide as the cab pulls up to the front of the school and I climb out, my nerves and anxiety on fire.

The campus doesn't appear to be very big, but thankfully there are signs everywhere and I quickly follow the ones that say 'Concert Hall'.  Even if it wasn't well marked though, I don't think I'd get lost.  There are many people seemingly following the same paths I am.  Some are older and dressed in suits and dresses, and others are younger, also dressed nicely but are carrying instruments.  I fall into step with these people, who I can safely assume are also heading to the concert hall to watch, or participate in, the recital.

When one of the older women, an assumed spectator, does a double take at catching a glimpse of my face, I quickly duck my head and stare intently at the group.  Although a lot of my fans don't know my face, I've played in way too many solo recitals to remain completely unrecognizable.  I just hope that this won't be too much of a problem, walking into a concert hall with an orchestra full of musicians and an audience likely containing a great deal of musicians.

The hall is quite large, I discover as I reach it and enter the lobby.  It's quite impressive for a college concert hall.  But I suppose, just as Sina Institute was, this is a school entirely dedicated to the arts, so their facilities would be top of the line.  In the lobby, the students all dressed in their tuxes and black gowns mingle with the audience waiting to be let into the hall.  I look around for Eren, but I don't see him.  There's a loud swell of music coming from somewhere down the hall that I presume leads towards the stage entrance of the hall.  He must be practicing back there.  But that's a good thing, I decide, realizing that I'm not sure I want Eren to know that I came.

I hurriedly buy my ticket, then take a seat in the back of the lobby, trying to stay out of sight of anyone that could potentially recognize me.  Especially after I catch a glimpse of Armin talking with an older man, and Jean twirling a drumstick in his fingers while talking with a woman that looks remarkably like him, probably his mother.  Instead I look around at the rest of the people crowded into the lobby and loitering outside.  It's a surprising turnout considering it's nine in the morning on a Tuesday.

It isn't too long after I arrive though that the doors are opened and an usher begins to take tickets and let guests enter the hall.  Once inside, I go up to the balcony and pick a spot in the first row, all the way on the end.  Normally, I would go for something a few rows up on the first level, right in the middle.  Everyone knows that's acoustically the best place to sit, but that's also the spot that's the most likely to get me seen by Eren.  At least with a balcony seat, there is a very high chance that he'll never look up.

Once everyone is inside the hall and have taken their seats, the doors close and the lights dim over the audience, the stage lights coming on bright.  It's only a minute later that the orchestra starts to file out onto the stage, two lines of them coming one from each side of the stage.  The audience applauds as they appear, and I follow suit, my eyes scanning for Eren.  He is one of the first ones out on the left, the same side of the hall I'm seated on.  I can't stop the thought that he looks very striking in his tux.  He crosses the stage and takes his seat.  So he's first violin, second chair for this orchestra?  That means he must be training to become concertmaster with whoever is instructing him here as well.  There's only one place for a first violin second chair to go, and that's up to concertmaster.  It gives me a little more relief that Eren is receiving additional lessons besides the ones I'm giving him.  It gives me confidence that by the time I have to leave in two weeks, he'll be ready to take my chair.

I try not to focus on the sting in my chest at the thought of leaving Shiganshina as the last of the orchestra takes their seats.  Once they're all seated, the concertmaster enters from the left, her heals clacking loudly with her determined steps, and a new round of applause fills the hall.  She stops in front of her chair and turns to the audience with a bow of her head.  The applause dies down and she turns to her orchestra.  Lifting her violin to her chin, she starts a loud note ringing through the hall.  Slowly, group by group, the rest of the orchestra tunes their instruments to hers.

Once the resounding note fades into silence and the concertmaster takes her seat, the conductor enters from the right side of the stage.  The orchestra stands as he crosses the stage, and the audience begins a new round of applause.  The conductor pauses to the side of his short platform and turns to the audience with a full bow at the waist.  He turns back to the orchestra and motions for them to take their seats.  The hall falls completely silent.  The conductor steps onto the platform and raises his baton.  I sit back, getting comfortable in my seat, my eyes riveted on Eren.

The program indicates that there are six pieces that will be played for a roughly hour and a half long concert.  A scan of the list of pieces shows that they’re pretty standard pieces for an orchestra of this level.  Last on the list is Eren's Irish Rhapsody.  The entire piece is written to be an orchestra supported violin solo.  That's a lot of time for him to spend standing up by himself and playing to the audience, and I start to get nervous.  He's only ever played the few measures he was having trouble with for me.  I should've run through the whole piece with him, just to make sure he was comfortable with all of it.  Thankfully the majority of the piece is at a slower tempo with nothing too challenging as far as note and chord progressions until the last about two minutes of the piece.  That's when the tempo increases and the real test of a violinist begins.  Lots of falls and rises and crescendos and tricky patterns.  It's in those last pages of the piece that Eren was having trouble, but we didn't work on the entire section, just the few measures Eren had indicated.

As the second to last piece fades out, and the audience applauds, Eren stands and makes his way to a music stand that had been placed for him with his score already perched on it.  As he moves up to the front of the stage, I note how he wipes his palm on his thigh before taking his bow in hand.  I lean forward in my seat as the conductor raises his baton and the rest of the orchestra prepares to start.

Eren takes a deep breath as the orchestra begins with a few long, low notes, and I hold my breath.  His eyes are flicking around the audience.  He needs to calm down.  He's too focused on them.  But as his cue quickly approaches, I watch as he closes his eyes and lifts his bow to the strings.  He seems to relax slightly, and eases into his opening note with his eyes still closed.  I release the breath I had been holding, but I don't relax.  This is a long piece for him to continue a solo through.

After a few measures of the slow melody, he opens his eyes, but even from way up here I can tell that he's not looking at the audience.  He's thinking about the who, or the why, he's playing for, just like I advised him to do.  His body starts to move with the music as he lets his mind get into the piece.  The rest of the orchestra plays behind him, their music complimenting the sound of his violin so beautifully.

Halfway through the piece, the tempo picks up a little and Eren easily flows through the harder fingering.  There's no hesitation.  He's putting everything into that bow and those strings.  His brow furrows and sweat beads on his brow under the spotlight.  His body moves and shifts and dips, flowing perfectly with the music, as if he were merely dancing to it and not playing it himself.  I can sense the emotion behind his playing, and I wonder who he's playing for.  He looks absolutely beautiful.

The tempo slows again, back to the peaceful and relaxing melody of the beginning.  His posture relaxes again with the slow in tempo, his body matching the pace of the music.  This is where the orchestra picks up and they get their chance to shine.  Eren's violin is barely discernible from the rest of the instruments.  Even if it can be picked out, it's a background melody to the orchestra's music.  But as the piece starts to near its end, that slowly shifts, until Eren's violin is leading the rest of the orchestra again.  This is where Eren was having problems.  This is the part that challenges the soloist.

"You can do it," I breathe, my voice barely audible in my own ears over that of the orchestra.

I clearly pick out the lead in notes and I hold my breath as Eren moves into them seemingly effortlessly.  His hands are closed again and his fingers move quickly over the neck of the violin, his bow gliding in quick and precise movements.  I find my own fingers start to twitch, matching Eren's own as he plays the chords.  My eyes watch every shift of his fingers, every flick of his wrist, every twitch of his eyebrow.  His eyes remained closed as he concentrates on the music and the notes he has to play.

"Don't think," I breathe again.  "Just play."

He's approaching the most challenging few measures, the ones he had me help him with.  His brow furrows deeper, and I grit my teeth in literal suspense.  I've never felt this way before about anyone's playing besides my own before.  It's a weird feeling to sit here and be _so invested_ in the playing of another.  But it feels right as I now straight up airplay the piece with Eren, as if it'll somehow transfer to Eren's own fingers.  It feels so right to sit here and watch Eren play a piece he's worked so hard on.

He reaches the lead up into the complicated crescendo and his eyes fly open.  In an effort not to focus on the audience in front of him, he looks up, and my movement must catch his eye because they immediately flicker over to meet my intense stare.  My breathe catches, afraid I distracted him and that he'll falter.  But neither of us do, and he keeps eye contact with me as we play through the measures, without him missing a single beat or note.

A smile pulls at my lips and I don't even try to stop it.  He smiles back and his eyes drift closed again as he plays out the rest of the piece.  That stupid smile is still on my face as my hands slow and drop back into my lap.  He doesn't need my help anymore.  I allow myself to take a deep breath and relax my tense back and shoulders as Eren and the rest of the orchestra play out the last few notes, the piece fading into silence.

The concert hall erupts into applause as Eren lowers his bow, the rest of the orchestra following shortly behind him.  I'm the first one on my feet as his eyes flash back up to where I'm sitting and a huge grin splits his face.  The conductor turns to face the audience and the entire orchestra, including Eren and the conductor, bow.  The applause continues as they straighten.  Then the conductor motions towards Eren with a sweep of his hand.  Eren bows again and the applause swells.

This funny warmth in my chest also swells.  It's hard to put a finger on exactly what it is, but as I watch Eren rise from his bow with that same wide smile still etched onto his face, I realize that a lot of what I'm feeling is pride.  I'm proud of him.  He preformed remarkably.  He didn't miss a single note.  And if he was nervous standing in front of that audience, then he didn't show it.  I couldn't be more proud of him, and the feeling warms me to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the links to [Liebesleid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aeBrHEdapQ&list=PLeGDjRdX7XSNBjV147A8gzfi3pA-bCBAo&index=10/) and the [Kreutzer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okWr-tzwOEg/) from two chapters ago. Just in case you want to hear them. I absolutely love the Kreutzer, and Liebesleid is also a very beautiful piece.


	10. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows back up with a new chapter after being MIA for over two months* Hey hey so I AM alive. I bet y’all were starting to wonder. And I bring with me a new and kinda depressing chapter! You’re so very welcome!

The applause doesn't fade as the orchestra begins to file off the stage, Eren, the concertmaster, and the conductor, the last ones to leave.  As I make my way from the hall, I think about hurrying out of the building and leaving before Eren can find me.  But he already knows I'm here.  He already knows that I came to watch him.  So what would be the point of quickly and quietly slipping away? I hover by the door, trying to quickly make a decision, but a call from down the hall makes my decision for me.

“Levi wait!”

I turn to see Eren weaving between the crowds of people towards me. There’s a big smile on his face and it’s almost contagious.

“You did really well,” I tell him as he reaches me.

“Thanks! But… what are you doing here?” he asks. “I didn’t expect you to come watch the recital.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it, it was a last minute decision,” I tell him. “I decided that I spent too much time helping you with your piece that I had to come watch you perform it.”

His smile grows softer. “Thanks Levi. You’re great, you know that?”

A denial immediately pops into mind, but I bite my tongue. He’s in such a happy mood, I don’t want to kill it with my negativity, even though I know it to be true. He looks around, then gestures with his chin towards the doors.

“Why don’t we go outside?” He pulls the collar of his tux and bowtie loose. “It’s really loud and stuffy in here.”

I nod and follow him out the front doors. It’s much quieter out here, and I instinctively reach for my pack of cigarettes in my pocket. I hesitate though in lifting one of the sticks to my mouth. With a glance up at Eren, I mutter an apology as I move to put the cigarette away.

“Oh, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” Eren reassures me quickly.

“Are you sure?” I ask warily.

He nods with his usual smile and I lift the cigarette back up to my lips, quickly lighting it. After a long inhale, I pull the stick from between my lips and blow the smoke away from Eren.

“That was quite the performance,” I tell him. “You didn’t miss a single beat.”

One corner of his lips pulls up, causing the corner of his eye to crinkle and sends my heart racing. It’s ridiculous how easily Eren is able to wreck havoc on me like that.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice thick with sincerity. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve managed,” I insist, taking another drag.

“I don’t know…” Eren responds with a soft laugh. He hesitates for a moment, obviously thinking about something, then looks back up at me. “So a lot of us are going out to a concert tomorrow night. The Dauper Philharmonic Orchestra? It’s in the next city over, so it’ll be a late night driving back, but if you want to come, you could join us. It’d be fun!”

A thousand things flash through my mind. A thousand images that I’ve seen a thousand times. And images that I don’t want to see anymore, now or ever. But there they are. A bunch of students packed into a car. Excited chatter about the concert they would never make it to. Crunching metal, screams, blood, sirens, death. But these images are shifting, changing. It’s no longer the faces of my friends I see, but Eren’s face, Eren and the students from the orchestra. The little blond cellist, the black-haired flutist, the two-toned drummer. It’s Eren and all his friends I see. And it terrifies me more than the decade old images that have haunted me.

Eren is watching me, a slightly concerned look in his eyes, and I become aware of the look that must be on my face. I fight as hard as I can to clear those images from my mind, to pull a stoic mask over my shock, to try and hide my anxiety. But it’s not easy.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Eren says with a shrug. “I was just offering.”

I nod. There’s not much else I can do right now. What I really need to do is get away from Eren before my panic attack completely consumes me. I don’t want Eren to witness it. He _can’t_ witness something like that. “I’ll think about it,” I tell him, starting to turn away from the concert hall. “I should get back to the hall. You have class right?”

“Yeah, I guess I should go change and get ready for class,” Eren says. His smile returns and he waves at me as he steps backwards towards the concert hall. “I’ll see you this afternoon at rehearsal!”

I nod and hurry away from Eren and the hall, heading quickly for the front of the school as I call for a cab. I can still feel the fear, the anxiety, the panic in the back of my mind. Even after I’ve climbed into a cab, even after I’m dropped off at the concert hall, even after I draw another thick crimson line across my arm, even after I’ve immersed myself in the music of my violin for hours, I can still feel the lingering tendrils of anxiety wrapped around my entire being.

At least the actual rehearsal serves as a decent distraction. With our first concert coming up on Saturday, the pressure is on to solidify these pieces. We spend a longer time than usual in orchestra rehearsal with Erwin, which is grueling, and then he sends us off into our groups with specific flaws to fix and perfect. As section leader, all of that pressure is on me to get my group of first violins completely comfortable with the pieces. Normally, that would annoy the ever living fuck out of me, but right now, I’m grateful for the distraction.

The images don’t entirely leave though. They still haunt me, plucking at the threads of my conscious mind, stirring into vivid detail at the slightest of provocations. Especially when practice comes to an end and I pass the bald trumpeter and the two-toned percussionist excitedly talking about their trip to the next city tomorrow night on my way to a practice room. The images flash behind my eyes, images so familiar, yet entirely new. Instead of Isabel’s bloody face swimming in my mind, it’s Eren’s, and his friends’ faces. And despite the change, it’s equally as horrifying.

Eren waltzes into my practice room after dinner with his friends, his bright smile plastered to his face. I try desperately to focus on his smile, the glow in his eyes, the way his whole being naturally exudes happiness. I desperately cling to the sight in front of me, rather than the visions of blood and pain and death in the back of my mind.

“We practiced really hard the last couple of days for your recital, so if you want to take the night off from our lessons, you can,” I find myself telling him, despite that his presence here is doing wonders to ease me out of the last cloying tendrils of my anxiety.

“No way!” he snorts, taking a seat and pulling his violin case into his lap. “We have a concert coming up. I need all the extra practice I can get.” His tone is joking, teasing, and he laughs at himself. The very sound of that laugh works its way beneath my skin and warms me all the way to the core. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing that sound bubbling from those lips. “Besides,” he suddenly adds with a fond smile, “I’d never pass up the opportunity to hang out with you. Even if it is just during a lesson.”

How does he always know what to say? How does he always find the right thing to say to pull me out of my self-depreciation. Sometimes all it takes are a few words from him and I get this feeling deep within me, that maybe this last decade of agony and misery and self-hatred isn’t a precursor for what the rest of my life will be like. Maybe this isn’t all there is for my future. Maybe I can have something more. Maybe I can finally allow myself some attachment, some friends… maybe even something more than that.

Eren makes me feel worth something. He makes me feel like I have something to offer others. Maybe I’m not a useless pile of shit. Maybe there are some people out there that care about me. Maybe even Eren cares about me. It’s that feeling, that thought, that has a small smile threatening to pull at my lips.

“Alright. If you say so.”

…

It doesn’t matter how much Eren had managed to brighten my mood last night. It doesn’t matter how much his mere smile was able to ease away my anxiety. Because the next day, as rehearsal starts to draw to an end, that anxiety comes back full force. Eren and his friends are about to pile into a car and drive to the next city to go to a concert. It’s too familiar a story, and unfortunately, I know how it ends.

I slip twice during the full orchestra rehearsal at the end of practice. Twice. For anyone else, two slips might be considered a good rehearsal, but for me, it’s unacceptable. I don’t slip. But my mind is racing, focused not on the music, but on Eren’s impending trip. I can’t help it. The idea of it brings back too many memories, and those memories bring with them a flood of anxiety.

Rehearsal draws to an end, and I quickly pack up my instrument and head down the hall towards a practice room before I can hear any of Eren’s friends talking excitedly of their trip. I already heard enough before rehearsal started, when Armin had come over to Eren’s section to talk to him about it. He had been joined by the flutist, Mikasa, and also Connie and Sasha. They were talking loudly and enthusiastically about this stupid outing, and it was all I could do to lose myself in practicing the sheet on my stand.

When I get to my practice room, I quickly go about my pre-practice ritual. Lately I’ve been able to cut back on how many times a day I needed to do it, but today, my anxiety is too far through the roof to even attempt trying to play without aggravating the bloody wound on my arm. I’m just picking up my violin to start playing when there’s a knock on my door. I hesitantly lower the violin before calling for them to come in. I know who it is, but I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to talk with him right now without completely breaking down.

Eren opens the door and steps in. Thankfully, he doesn’t remain in the doorway. He takes a few steps inside and the door swings closed behind him. I don’t want all the people moving through the hallways on their way to a practice room or on their way home to overhear this. Whatever _this_ may be.

“Uhm, you probably already assumed this, but I can’t stay for our lesson tonight,” he tells me.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Instead I pick up my violin and pluck at the strings to tune them, despite them still being perfectly in tune from when I tuned them just a minute ago.

“We still have room in Reiner’s van, if you want to come,” Eren quickly continues. There’s a hopeful lilt to his tone, and I try not to let it work its way into my mind and mess with my anxiety even more.

When I don’t say anything, Eren’s small smile starts to falter, and he nods in understanding at my unspoken refusal. He looks around, rubbing at the back of his neck, as if trying to find something, anything else to talk about. Upon thinking of nothing, he nods again, then turns towards the door.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you to-”

“Don’t promise me that!”

The room is alarmingly silent for a long moment. Shit. Did that really just come out of my mouth? I hardly recognize it as my own voice. It was too whiny, too needy and broken. I don’t sound like that. Do I? But now that I’ve opened my stupid mouth, now that I’ve let all that difficultly suppressed anxiety bubble to the surface, I can’t stop it. I can’t force it back down.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” I continue. What the fuck is happening? This isn’t like me. Why can’t I stop this? “I don’t want you to go. Just… _please_ don’t go.”

Eren is staring at me in shock and confusion, one hand still gripping the door handle. He lets his hand fall from the handle as he turns to fully face me, his eyes glowing with concern. Shit, that’s not what I want. I don’t want him to be worried about me. If he’s worried, then he might start wondering. If he starts prying, then who knows how much longer I’ll be able to hide everything.

“Levi, I-”                                   

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, a mumbled apology under my breath. It’s as if his voice has snapped me out of whatever anxiety-induced daze I had been stuck in. Maybe it is his voice coupled with that worried look he’s giving me. I don’t want his concern or his pity. It’s pathetic. And I don’t deserve it. I need to get out of here. I need to leave before I completely fucking lose it. I need to…. “I’m sorry.”

I’m pushing past him and out the door of the practice room, ignoring his calls for me to wait. At least he doesn’t follow me. He lets me go as I hurry down the hall and into the bathroom. I ignore the couple of people at the sink as I push into the last stall. Locking the door behind me, I sit heavily on the toilet seat and shove my hand into my mouth, biting down hard on the fleshy meat of my thumb to keep from screaming. Or crying. Or having a complete mental breakdown.

It’s only a minute or two before those two men leave the restroom, and I’m finally alone. I release the bite on my hand, ignoring the blood that drips down my fingers and onto the floor. I can taste it in my mouth, but it does nothing to distract my self-destructing mind.

I can’t believe I lost myself like that in front of Eren. I can’t believe I let him see me as the pathetic mess I truly am. Why couldn’t I keep a lid on my anxiety-riddled self for just a minute longer? He had been about to leave. I was almost free to freak out as much as I wanted to in private, with Eren being none the wiser. But now he knows just how much of a repulsive mess I really am. He doesn’t have to wonder anymore, doesn’t have to guess. I served him the answers on a silver fucking platter.

The door opens and I hold my breath. The footsteps are slow, hesitant, and I get a sinking feeling as to who they might belong to. And my fears are confirmed when he clears his throat and calls out to me.

“Levi?” His voice is soft, as if he’s trying to call out to a hurt, scared animal. But honestly, is that not what he is doing? “I… I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I just want you to know that… well, I know we don’t know each other very well, but you can talk to me about anything, okay?”

He’s right outside my stall now. I can see the toes of his shoes beneath the door. I try to ignore his soft voice, the words he’s trying to tell me. I can’t hear that right now. Not when I’m like this. I’m gripping my last thread of self-control with everything I have, and I can feel it about to snap. He needs to leave before I open that door and do something really stupid, like give in to his offer.

“Uhm, you’re not alone, okay Levi? I just… want you to know that… I guess.”

There’s a civil war raging between my mind and my body as I fight to keep from standing and throwing the stall door open. I want to go to him, to embrace him, to let him hold me while I spill every last dark secret I’ve kept locked away from the entire world for so long. But my mind fights back. I can’t let him see that side of me. The small glimpse I already gave him is way too much. No one would be able to handle all of the secrets I’m hiding. I’m too much of a burden. I’d scare him away, no matter how honest and sincere his intentions are.

“I’m going now,” he says after a moment of silence. “I’ll leave you alone now. And I know you don’t want me to promise this, but I _will_ see you tomorrow, Levi. And the day after that, and the day after _that_ too. Okay? I mean it, Levi, you’re not alone.”

_Go to him. Leave me alone. Go to him. Leave me alone. Go to him! LEAVE ME ALONE._ Back and forth, back and forth. I feel like I’m about to rip in half. That mental breakdown I had managed to mostly suppress is working its way back up to the surface. I want to go to him. But I also want him to leave me the fuck alone.

I see his shoes retreat from my limited field of view, then his footsteps head towards the door. And as the door opens, and swings back shut behind him, my mind wins over my body, and I remain rooted to the spot, my mouth shut, as I let him walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so any of you that are subscribed to me as an author know that I HAVE been posting recently, just not for this fic. I’ve been pretty active in the haikyuu fandom, as that’s where all my motivation has run off to. I’m kinda tired of waiting for season 2 of SNK and have sort of moved on. But not to fear! I have absolutely no intention of abandoning this fic. And in all honestly, I will most likely be back full force in the ereri fandom as soon as season 2 of the anime starts releasing. But until then, I will try not to ((no promises)) leave two months between updates again. We’ll see how that goes though.


	11. Letting Go

I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep last night. It wasn’t even a question. So what did I do? I never left the concert hall. I eventually left that bathroom and made my way back to my practice room, but it wasn’t to pack up my things and leave. The goal was to let the music of my violin drown out the rampaging negative thoughts in my head. It worked a little bit, but my fingers and wrists and arms were so tense that eventually I stopped keeping track of how many mistakes I made.

I stay up all night in that tiny little practice room, playing and playing until my fingertips go numb. I only know that it’s morning when I hear the door of the room next to mine open and close. Someone is here to practice, so it has to be light out now. Most likely.

I’m not done trying to purge my mind of the rampant bloody thoughts plaguing them. So I keep playing. I let my mind go blank, only filling with the notes singing from the strings of my violin. I will play and play until I know whether Eren is safe or not. If that’s all the way until rehearsal, then so be it. If he doesn’t come to rehearsal this afternoon, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t even think about that right now.

There’s a knock on my door and I startle, the bow making a hideous screech across the strings that rings in my ears long after its echo fades out. It takes me a minute to lower my violin. I really don’t want to talk to anyone right now. I don’t think I can keep up a normal façade for any decent length of time.

But the knock sounds again, a little more hesitantly this time. When I stand and turn, my breath catches with a sudden, incredibly strong flooding of relief. It’s almost enough to completely incapacitate me. Eren is okay. He’s standing right there, peering through the narrow window on the door. The tanned skin of his face is flawless, not a mark or cut or scratch. His wide, bright eyes are curious, even touched with worry. He’s standing there at the door. He’s there. He’s okay.

As soon as I regain proper motor control, I’m throwing the door open.

“Hey, sorry to intrude-”

“You’re okay,” I interrupt him. The thought is tumbling endlessly on my mind and there was no stopping it from rolling off my tongue. My relief is making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine…” he replies, trying to mask his obvious surprise. “Uhm, but what about you? Are you okay? I, uh… I couldn’t help but worry about you last night, at that concert. I kinda wish you had come with me….”

I duck my head as I slowly take my seat again. Eren sits in the free chair to the left of my music stand. As the relief slowly starts to ebb away, it’s replaced with a tinge of regret. I also wish that I could’ve gone with him. It would’ve been nice to go to that concert with Eren, to sit in those seats on the other end of that stage and to listen to someone else’s music. To lean across and whisper to Eren my thoughts on each particular piece. To dissect every movement, every instrumental section, the conduction, the set as a whole, as we walk back to the car together.

But despite how much I regret not going, I also know that I never would’ve been able to get in that car. The memories were too strong at just the mention of a trip out of town to go to a concert. At just the thought of Eren climbing into that car with all his friends. I never would’ve been able to go. It wouldn’t have been possible. Not without a complete mental breakdown in front of Eren and all his friends. What Eren witnessed in this practice room and in the bathroom last night was bad enough, and I had still been holding onto a fragile thread of sanity.

“Did, uh… did you have fun?” I ask. Eren is back. He is safe. There’s no reason for me to still be nervous about it. It’s over. It’s done. It’s in the past. Eren is here, he made it back safe.

“Yeah, it was very nice. They’re a really good group,” Eren responds, but his expression doesn’t reflect the words coming out of his mouth. “Your hands are shaking, Levi. Are you okay?”

I look down sharply and, sure enough, my hands are betraying my inner turmoil. I lace my fingers together to try and stop it, but it doesn’t work. Not well enough. Eren’s question rings through my head, over and over, and my already compromised emotions don’t know how to answer. Without even really making a conscious decision to do so, I’m reaching for my sleeve and rolling it up, baring row upon row of neat red lines and raised pink scars. A small patch of gauze covers a part of my upper arm, held in place by a rubber band. I pull off the rubber band and remove the gauze. The gauze pulls away dried blood from the new cut there, irritating it and causing it to start bleeding again.

“Oh my god, Levi,” Eren gasps, getting to his feet. He immediately goes to my backpack, and I don’t stop him. The only thing I have in there that I want to hide wouldn’t surprise Eren now. He pulls out the small towel I have in there and brings it to my arm to clean off the blood.

I watch him carefully. I don’t know why I thought it’d be a good idea to show Eren. I keep waiting for disgust to cross his face. For him to be revolted, horrified, for him to get up and leave. For him to disappear, to never see him again.

But he doesn’t. And none of those emotions touch his soft features. The only emotions shining in those bright eyes are concern, worry, and maybe even sympathy. I’m not sure I like that last one, but it makes something flutter in my stomach. Along with the obvious compassion that’s clear in his eyes. He sincerely cares about my wellbeing, and I have no idea how to even react to that.

“I have to,” I find myself muttering as he continues to clean at the cut. I don’t tear my eyes from his. I don’t think I could if I tried. “I have to in order to play. I can’t play without feeling… pain.”

“That’s… horrible,” Eren breathes, finally looking up to meet my eyes. “Why?”

The whole story tumbles from my lips. The second the first word is out, there’s no stopping the rest. Every last, depressing detail fills the small space between us, and I watch as a flurry of different emotions crosses his green eyes. I don’t stop speaking, not with the death of my father, not with being shipped from foster home to foster home, not when I lost my only friends all at the same time. I continue past that, continuing into how I struggled to play, how I found out that if I drowned myself in pain, it was suddenly possible. I explain to him how I need to open the wounds on my arms in order to feel the passion I need to play. I tell him that the only way to keep the memories of the only people I ever loved alive is to fuel my pain of their loss into the strings of my violin. And I tell him that I had to keep everyone at arms distance. I couldn’t grow close to anyone else. Because if I let someone else in and they disappeared from my life like the others did, I don’t think I’d survive it.

He listens to every word. He doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t ask questions, he just listens. And when I finally come to an end, when my story finally finishes, Eren doesn’t say a word. He sits up from where he’s kneeled on the floor and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything stupid, doesn’t say ‘I’m sorry’ or something else completely pointless. He just hugs me, and after a long minute, I manage to make myself hug him back.

And it feels so right. Having Eren in my arms like this, him holding me tightly. He’s murmuring something in my ear. He’s saying that he’s here, that I’m not alone anymore. He’s saying that I don’t need to push people away anymore. That I don’t have to live like this anymore. And it’s everything I want to hear. It’s everything I _need_ to hear.

He pulls away and I let him. He watches me for a long minute in complete silence. His eyes are loud though, flicking over my face, trying to gauge my emotional state. After a moment, he sits back in the chair he had evacuated, he turns the insides of his arms to face me. He leans closer, holding them out to me.

“My mom died when I was nine,” he starts to tell me, and my eyes widen. I had suspected that his mother was no longer alive from subtleties in the way he talked about her, but that’s so young to lose a parent. I would know. “She had cancer. I knew it was coming, she and my dad both had explained to me what was happening long before it happened, but I was so young, and I don’t think I fully understood what was going on. It hit me really hard. She was the one who taught me how to play violin. It’s like how it was with your father. Except that I didn’t play for years after she died. Things didn’t get better with time either. I was a disaster in high school. It’s a miracle my father put up with me. It seemed like it was every other day that he was getting a call from my principle. I also took my anger out on myself.”

He moves his arms closer and I look, and am shocked at what I see. How did I not notice them before? The scars are very faint, obviously not having been touched or reopened in years. I reach out without thinking, but Eren doesn’t stop me as I take his wrists in my hands, pulling them closer. They are all small, and there’s not that many of them. Well, it only doesn’t seem like very many because of the sheer number that line my own arms. But even then, each one pains me. Seeing those scars, a clear sign of Eren’s own pain, no matter how far in the past, it hurts me. More than any scar or cut that graces my own arms.

“I overcame it eventually,” Eren continues. His eyes are on his arms, just as mine still are. “I’m not saying it got any less painful to think about her. I don’t have to tell you that. But… I guess what I want to say is that the only reason I came out of my… funk, is because of my sister, and my friends, my dad too. I had so many people close to me that helped me through it. I can see now that you… you don’t have anyone. That’s not healthy. So, I guess, I just want to be that person for you. I know we haven’t personally known each other very long, but I really care about you, Levi, and I want to be here for you. I want to help you out of this.”

I don’t know what to say. My words completely leave me. I’m stunned beyond belief. What is Eren saying? He knows my every dirty, horrible secret. He knows what a messed up person I am. He knows all my flaws, my seemingly endless amount of baggage, and he’s still offering to be here for me? He should be running for the hills, taking off before he gets himself in too deep in my mess. But here he is, offering to help me. And… he cares about me?

“I’m tired of being alone,” I find myself saying, my voice quiet. “It’s so hard… hiding from everyone.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” Eren replies. He’s leaned in, perhaps so that he can hear my quiet muttering.

“I don’t know how to stop though.”

“It’s because you’re thinking too much. You’re alone right now, with no one to see you, so let yourself relax. Let go, and stop thinking so much.”

“How-”

I don’t get to finish that question. Eren is leaning forward, and before I can even register what’s happening, his lips are on mine. My heart leaps into my throat, my face heats up, and I can’t react. I also can’t sort through the feelings that are suddenly threatening to overwhelm me. It’s like… I’m performing a work of my own composition in front of thousands for the first time since my pencil left the paper. There’s excitement, the excitement of unveiling something new. There’s nervousness, the nervousness of performing something for the first time. Anxiety, a fear of failing, or of the piece being ill received. But there’s something new swimming around in all these emotions. It’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. It brings to memory images of my father, of Isabel and Farlan, of Petra, Guther, Eld, and Oluo. They’re not the usual images that float around in my head though. They’re filled with that emotion. Images of them smiling, laughing, playing their instruments together. They’re happy memories, filled with… love. And it’s overwhelming.

I love him. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone before. I never _let_ myself love someone this much before. And now that the floodgates have opened, they’re no hiding them again. Greed envelops me, but I fight to hold it down. I want him to stay with me. I want to hold on to him and never let him go. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. I don’t remember it feeling this… easy. Loving people is hard. Having people you care about, people that can be taken away from you, it’s so hard. But this… this is so easy, having Eren here, his lips moving so softly against my own. Falling in love with Eren is so easy. It feels like it was inevitable.

I don’t realize that I’ve started kissing him back until he’s pulling away and I’m longing to follow, to close the distance between us again. But I don’t.

“Sorry, that might’ve been a little inappropriate-”

“No,” I interrupt. “No.” I can’t think of anything else to say.

He smiles, reaching forward to run his fingertips lightly over my upturned palm. I curl my fingers around his. “So how was that for letting go? At least for a moment.”

“Can I-” I stop that train of thought, for once managing to catch myself before something just slips out again. But then I decide that maybe I should continue with that thought. “Maybe I can let go again? For just another moment.”

He smiles wider, a soft chuckle leaving those soft lips, and he nods. I don’t hesitate to lean in and press my lips back to his. And this time I’m ready, and when we kiss this time, it doesn’t start one sided. He kisses me back, and I kiss him, and my heart is back in my throat. This is better than the music. I didn’t think there was anything in this cruel world that could be better than my music. But this is. Eren is. Being with him is.

When we pull apart this time, Eren doesn’t pull fully away from me. He leans his forehead against mine, and the prolonged closeness is enough to make me dizzy. But it’s the kind of dizziness that I would gladly live with for the rest of my life.

“As much as I _really_ don’t want to, I need to go,” he tells me. His voice is a ghost of a breath across my lips. “If I don’t make it to class, my professor will skin me alive. And I’m rather fond of my skin.”

“Oh… what time is it?” I question.

“Uhm, about seven thirty? I need to catch the next bus if I’m going to make it to campus on time,” Eren answers as he stands. “I just wanted to stop by because… well, you know. I was worried about you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll see you at rehearsal, alright?”

I nod, and Eren flashes me the brightest of smiles, the kind that can light any room, lift any mood. And it does. When he leaves, the door closing behind him, I can still feel the warmth of his presence, can see the light in his eyes, can taste the touch of his lips on my own.

These feelings are so strange, the need to be close to someone else, the desperation to feel the touch of another person. But I want to learn. I want to learn how to be comfortable with these feelings. I want to learn how to let someone in, how to care for someone again, how to care for Eren. It won’t be easy, but if Eren gives me a chance, I will do whatever I can to give him something better than the shell of a man I am right now. I want to let myself heal. For Eren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a complete mess, as far as the writing and following Levi’s emotions and feelings and thoughts through the whole thing, but that’s on purpose. I’m trying to show just how much Levi’s entire life is being turned upside down. Anywho, hope you liked it!


End file.
